Of Astronomers and Astronauts
by Sparked To Life
Summary: After Isla Sorna, Eric's life was never the same. He changes his name and disappears after deciding that he's had enough of being the famous Eric Kirby... And he becomes Owen Grady instead. Or: where Eric Kirby decides to get away from his dinosaur filled past, and semi-accidentally ends up the alpha of a velociraptor pack instead. Because he was always an astronaut.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, warning: This chapter contains the graphic mauling of someone by dinosaurs. This is Jurassic Park, that's actually normal for these movies. If this disturbs you, skip over this chapter entirely. Seriously, don't read it. You have been warned.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Jurassic Park, Jurassic World, Chris Pratt, any of these characters, the US Navy, Sam Neill, or a dinosaur. It'd be so cool if I did though. You know, if it didn't eat me on sight. That kind of puts a damper on having a pet T-Rex. In all seriousness, the only thing that's mine is any original plot ideas I come up with. Consider this a blanket disclaimer for the whole fic. I'm not writing this more than once.**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter One:** Crash Landing

Eric Kirby couldn't help but blame himself for this situation.

He had been the one who wanted to go parasailing, after all. Ben had told him to pick any event, and they'd do it, together.

"Guy bonding time," he had said with a wink. "Just the two of us."

And Eric had chosen the Dino-Soar Parasailing Tour.

He had always loved dinosaurs. Growing up he had come home everyday, rattling off facts about whatever dinosaur he had researched. He had watched every documentary he could find about them, and read paleontology books way above his age's reading level. Some kids obsessed over cars or trains, he obsessed over dinosaurs. Finding out that InGen had actually _made_ dinosaurs was fascinating, even if he thought it was an absolutely terrible idea that would backfire on them repeatedly.

The Jurassic Park and San Diego Incidents had only proved him right.

Ben had agreed to the idea immediately. Eric had known he would. The man was so _desperate_ for Eric to like him, he would have agreed to just about anything. After all, the entire reason they had come to Costa Rica was because his mother had been trying to make Eric more accepting of Ben's role as her boyfriend.

She didn't seem to get the fact that Eric did accept him. Ben was nice, and seemed to really love his mother. And for the first time in a long time his mother was smiling and laughing; she was happy. Besides, Ben was funny, adventurous, and cool; Eric liked him. While he could never see Ben as a father, he could think of him as his mother's boyfriend. It was strange to think of her dating someone who wasn't his dad, but he understood why they had gotten a divorce. They didn't work well together. The divorce had actually been a relief. All the screaming and fighting had finally stopped, and his parents were happier apart.

Ben had been so excited leading up to the tour. He had taken the camera with them, saying they'd want to film all the dinosaurs they'd see. On the way to the docks, he had quizzed Eric about every dinosaur he knew (which wasn't nearly as much as Eric knew, but the boy hadn't minded. It had been fun to see Ben get so into it). Then, he had promised the tour guide extra if he managed to get them close to the island. And for one minute, it had been a wonderful, exciting event that Eric had loved.

And then that minute ended.

Everyone on the boat was dead. Eric wasn't sure what had killed them, but whatever it was must have been very, very dangerous. There wasn't even anything left of the crew. Only shredded cloth and streaks of blood.

Then, somehow, things had managed to get worse.

They were headed straight for the rocks. The boat would crash. The boat that Ben and Eric was _tethered_ _to_ would smash against the rocks and lose all the momentum it had, effectively causing _them_ to smash against the rocks.

Eric panicked. Ben didn't.

He managed to unclip the parasail from its tether, and a breeze swept them over the island. The island that was completely inhabited by _dinosaurs._ And absolutely _nothing else_. That is, until Ben and Eric ended up landing there.

And it was all Eric's fault.

They crashed into a tree. At first, Eric had struggled against the branches, twisting and shaking in the harness. Then, Ben managed to capture his attention.

"Eric. Eric! Listen to me! Everything is going to be alright. We're going to be fine, do you hear me? I won't let anything happen to you, okay?"

Eric didn't believe him. He had read the books, knew just how dangerous dinosaurs could be. Ben couldn't stop a Tyrannosaurus Rex from swallowing them whole. _But,_ Eric _wanted_ to believe Ben. He _wanted_ to think Ben could fix everything, keep them both safe. And sometimes, wanting it was enough. So he believed in the illusion that everything was under control. "O-okay," he stammered, wrestling his beating heart under control. Freaking out wouldn't help them. He needed to remain calm.

"Okay," Ben breathed back. "I'm going to drop you down now. Ready? One, two, three."

Eric fell to the ground with a thud. He stumbled to his feet and looked up at Ben, who was still dangling from the tree like a Christmas ornament.

 _Or a rack of meat in a butcher's shop,_ hissed the pessimistic part of his brain. Eric promptly told that part of him to shut up.

"Alright, now I'm going to drop myself down, okay Eric?"

"The camera's still on," he stammered in reply. The bright red light was still shining a small pinprick of color, momentarily distracting Eric. His mother had always been nagging him about that. If her camera wasn't being used, then it should be off. She didn't want the batteries to run out when she was using it just because someone ( _Eric)_ had left it on. The problem was almost comforting in its normalcy.

Ben fumbled with the camera, and the light flickered off. "Okay, I'm coming down now. Ready? One, two, three." At three he squeezed tight on the plastic buckle holding him in place, and Eric backed up quickly to avoid being struck.

Ben stayed in the tree.

With a frown, he squeezed the clip again. Still, nothing. "It looks like the belt is jammed, bud. I'm going to need you to find something sharp to cut it with, a rock or something." Ben was purposefully trying to keep his voice even, Eric could tell. It was the same voice his mom used to use when he was a kid and she was trying to convince him that _mommy and daddy aren't fighting Eric, we're just talking, now go back to bed and I'll read you your dinosaur book._

It hadn't worked then either.

Eric took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate. "Okay, give me a second." He stumbled away from the tree, yanking off his life jacket as he went. He tossed it aside as he walked toward the tree line. For several minutes, he looked through the leaves, stones, and dirt that covered the ground until he found a rock that seemed like it would do the job. Smiling, he turned around to rejoin Ben. And froze.

Velociraptors.

Four of them.

They hadn't seen him, not yet at least. They _had_ seen Ben though. They had surrounded him in fact, approaching him with wicked sharp teeth and claws.

Ben was staring at the raptors. Eric wasn't sure if he knew what they were _(Velociraptor mongoliensis, identifiable by the shape of their skull and bodies, males identifiable by the feathered quills on the crest of their heads, apex predators, pack hunters, carnivores),_ but he did know that _anyone_ could tell these animals were killers. Their razor teeth and sickle claws made them unmistakable for anything else.

"Eric," Ben called lowly, not looking away from the predators, "I don't want you to make a sound. They don't know you're here yet. I need you to turn around quietly, go into the jungle, and get away from here as quickly as possible."

Eric automatically began shaking his head, even though he knew Ben couldn't see him. _No. This wasn't happening._ Ben wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to get out of the tree, be the adult that takes charge and saves the day. They were supposed to get off the island _together._

"I'm sorry, Eric," Ben continued, his voice cracking slightly. He knew, Eric realized with a start. He _knew_ he was going to die. There wasn't going to be some last second intervention, no saving grace to stop the monsters like in an action movie. But Ben wasn't panicking. He _still_ was trying to protect Eric. "I wish I could be there for you, but I can't. But you can get off this island, bud, I know you can. You're the most resourceful kid I know. Find somewhere safe to hide for the night. Your mom knows where we went, she'll send someone out to get you as soon as we don't come ba—"

The raptor lunged.

Eric stumbled backwards, falling to the ground. The first raptor attacking had seemed to be a signal for all the others to attack. Suddenly, all of them were on top of Ben, snarling and biting and tearing. One of them sliced across his stomach with its massive sickle claw, and something long and dangling and _red_ came pouring out of Ben.

His intestines, Eric realized hysterically. The raptor had pulled out Ben's intestines.

Ben was making a _noise_ , something deep and primal and full of pain. But amongst his screams, Eric could make out Ben's voice.

" _Eric, run! Ru—"_

And then the largest raptor ripped out his throat.

Eric ran.

Eric wasn't sure how long he had been running for when the velociraptors noticed there had been a second person, but he could hear them chittering to one another when they began to follow him. Eric knew he could never outrun them. _(The Velociraptor mongoliensis runs on average 42-60 miles per hour. It's been known to track its prey for days on end. It rarely needs more than a few minutes, though.)_ He needed to do _something,_ or he would die, _just like Ben._

A tree.

His parents had always had terrible trouble grounding him. The main problem was due to the tree that was outside his window. Eric hated being trapped inside, and took every chance to escape by climbing up and down that tree. He had become incredibly good at climbing because of this. It had gotten so bad that his parents put an alarm on his window that went off whenever he opened it.

(The alarm had been magnetic. Eric would always just take a magnet off the kitchen fridge and stick it on the alarm so that the device wouldn't realize the connection had been interrupted. It didn't stop him from sneaking out. His parents never figured it out.)

Eric saw a tree large enough about fifteen feet ahead of him. The branches were out of his reach, but that wasn't a problem. He kicked off the truck and shot up his hands to grab the lowest branch. Moving quickly, he swung up his legs and started to climb. Just in the knick of time, too. The raptors arrived just as he began to climb, and Eric felt the breeze of their snapping jaws as they tried to bite him.

Eric didn't look down. He didn't stop climbing. He just kept moving until the branches got so thin that they risked snapping. Finally, he stopped. Leaning against the trunk as he caught his breath, he looked down at the ground below.

The raptors were still there.

They were snarling and pacing below the tree, their claws still bloody from the mauling. Then, the largest raptor leapt towards the tree. Its claws dug into the bark and held.

It was climbing the tree.

Eric pressed against the tree in fear. He had to tightly cover his mouth with his hands to keep from screaming. He had been wrong. The tree wouldn't save him; it just made it harder for them to get to him. But he had trapped himself in the process. He couldn't climb anymore, the branches would snap if he went up and he'd pass right by the raptor if he went down. He couldn't jump to the ground, it was too high and there were still three raptors at the bottom. He closed his eyes and prayed to any deity that may be listening to save him.

A crashing sound answered him.

The velociraptor was on the ground again, even angrier than it had been before. It was limping slightly on one foot, snarling and snapping at its companions. The deep gouges in the tree answered Eric's unspoken question. It had fallen.

The raptors stayed for several more minutes before leaving. Eric waited with bated breath for any sign of them before beginning the trip back down the tree. Carefully, he placed his foot on a branch.

It snapped under his weight, and the branch fell to the ground with a dull thud.

The velociraptors swarmed out of their hiding place.

Scrambling to pull himself back up, Eric beat a hasty retreat up the tree. They had set a trap, he realized. Velociraptors could set _traps._

They were so much smarter than he had thought. Than _anyone_ had thought. And that scared him more than anything else that had happened that day.

* * *

It rained that night.

Tropical storms tended to come out of nowhere, and leave just as quickly as they came. But while they were there they were fierce, howling things that battered you with rain and wind until all you could do was cling, shivering to yourself as you waited for it to pass.

It was in that manner that Eric spent the night.

The only good outcome of the storm was that it drove the raptors away. He had seen them disappear into the trees, illuminated by flashes of lightning. _They must be returning to their nest,_ Eric thought. _Or they could just be setting another trap,_ chimed in his pessimistic side.

Before leaving the tree, he broke off branches and threw them to the ground in hopes of causing any waiting raptors to reveal themselves. None came, but Eric feared that was because they had learned to wait before pouncing.

Still, he couldn't spend the rest of his (quite possibly very short) life in a tree. Cautiously, he moved down the branches and hopped the remaining distance to the ground.

A bush rattled.

His heart stopped.

A small snake slithered out of the foliage, and Eric sighed in relief. While turning to leave the area, he saw it.

A large sickle claw was lodged into the bark of the tree.

The velociraptor had been limping, Eric remembered. At the time, he had thought it was due to the fall, but apparently it had lost a claw in the process, causing the limp.

The claw still had Ben's blood on it.

With an amazingly steady hand, Eric reached up and yanked it out of the wood. He stumbled backwards with the force of it, but he had achieved his goal. The claw was now resting in the palm of his hand, just as wicked sharp and deadly as it had been the day before.

Wiping it on his pant leg, Eric realized that the claw could be incredibly useful to him. It could be used as a weapon while he was on the island. It could be used to cut. If he had had it before, Eric recognized bitterly, Ben may not even be dead. He could have used it to cut him free of the sail. They would have been gone before the raptors ever found them. This claw could help him survive.

Survive.

Eric knew that would be difficult. This island had been declared the most dangerous place on the planet, beating out even Isla Nublar. But he also knew he would fight until his last breath. He wasn't exactly a slouch when it came to the wilderness. Eric had always loved camping (just not with dinosaurs), and was an avid Boy Scout. Between what he knew about dinosaurs and that, he could survive until the rescue teams came.

And that had to be soon, right? He and Ben had disappeared yesterday. His mother had known where they were going, and she would have called the police the moment they didn't return from the docks. Help was probably already on its way.

Right?

* * *

 **Okay, the first few chapters of this fic are going to be about Eric's experiences on the island. They weren't really explained in the movie, past Eric ominously saying "You don't want to know," about T-Rex pee, so I'm going to be giving you my interpretations of it. There is a book about Eric's life on the island, but it's not written by Michael Crichton, not considered canonical by the Jurassic Park movie verse, and I haven't read it, so therefore I won't be using it. Once he gets off the island, I'll have a few chapters depicting his life post-Sorna, and eventually getting to the events that resulted in him changing his name to Owen Grady and becoming a velociraptor trainer for Jurassic World. His experiences before and after the island come into play later in the story, I promise I'm not just doing this to annoy you people.**

 **Also, if any of you have read my other fic, then know that these chapters will be shorter than those but there should be more frequent updates. I promise I won't neglect either of my fics in favor of the other. Updates won't stop for either.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to everyone who followed, and favorited! Seriously, you guys make my day. Special thanks to** Chaotician, icanhascamaro, iiio, **and** Countdown **for reviewing! For some reason FanFiction's been having some weird malfunction where none of the reviews are showing up when you try to read them, but I managed to pull them up on my email. To answer your questions:**

Icanhascamaro: **There's been a slight miscommunication. The raptors aren't going to need to get Ben back up the tree, because he never got out of the tree in the first place. The belt was jammed so he couldn't get down on his own, and the raptors didn't pull him down to continue to eat him after they killed him, for reasons that will be explained later. Also, as to why Eric/Owen (dang, that's gonna be confusing) decided to work with them in Jurassic World, well, you'll just have to read and find out.**

 **Thanks for reading! Reviews make me write faster (I'm bribing you with chapters for reviews)!**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Two: Stranded**

Help wasn't coming.

It took Eric three days to figure that out. Three days of watching the skies, listening for planes, and praying that someone, _anyone_ would come for him. Three days of _nothing._

If they were coming for him, they'd have been here long ago. On this island, things tend to die quickly. _People_ die quickly. They wouldn't have dragged their feet when it was a twelve year old. No, the only thing they expected to find of him were the parts the animals hadn't liked. And they weren't going to risk more lives to find _pieces_ of a body.

They had already decided he had died on this island. And because of that, he _would_ die on this island.

It may not be that day. It may not be the next. But he would die there eventually, and it would probably be soon.

He knew that he should keep up hope for a rescue, but it was hard to be hopeful when you were at the bottom of the food chain. Frustrated, Eric kicked the trunk of a tree. _It wasn't fair._ He hadn't deserved to land on this godforsaken place. Ben hadn't deserved to be _eaten alive._ But it still happened.

Eric wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. So he did. He cried for Ben and the men on the boat and for himself. He picked up a stick and beat it against the nearest tree and let out all the frustration and fear that had been churning inside him ever since Ben died, then sank to the ground as he continued to cry.

All it did was attract the compys.

The Procompsognathus (called "compy" for short) was a scavenger from the late Triassic Period. It was made by InGen primarily to act as a waste disposal, of sorts. They would eat anything, including the feces of larger dinosaurs.

But as a pack, it was known to attack, kill and eat larger organisms.

And if you were lucky, it was in that order.

The compys were poisonous. There was a neurotoxin in its saliva that made its victim feel befuddled, drowsy, and all together content.

They didn't even mind when the compys began to eat them alive.

The chirping was what first alerted Eric to their presence. The first one hopped into view, tilting its head at him curiously. It was the scout. The one that determined whether they would be able to successfully attack their prey.

And in this case, it decided they would attack Eric.

It made an odd chirping noise, and suddenly there wasn't just one compy. There was at least a dozen, all surrounding him. Eric quickly shot back to his feet and glanced around. There wasn't anything he could use for a weapon in arms reach.

A sharp pain in his arm drew his attention back to the compys. One had leapt onto him, and had dug its teeth into his wrist. Quickly, he tore it off, but it was too late. Eric could already feel the ice cold venom slowly begin to make its way down his arm. He kicked a path in the compys and began to run. The twelve year old could hear the _chirp chirp chirp_ of the dinosaurs as they followed. He ran faster.

Then, he climbed another tree.

Eric had a feeling that he'd be getting very familiar with trees in the near future. If he lived that long.

He could hear them still _chirp chirp chirping_ at the base of the tree, but he had the feeling they'd move on soon. They probably had a much shorter attention span than raptors. For now, he had bigger problems.

The poison.

He wasn't sure if it was fatal or not. The popular consensus had been that it was temporary, only slowing its victims rather than outright killing it. However, no one really knew seeing as the compys tended to eat their victims before anyone could find out.

Either way, Eric didn't want it in his body.

He yanked off his belt and wrapped tightly around his upper arm. It would function as a temporary tourniquet. Then, he brought his lips to the wound. They had learned this in Scouts, but then it had been used for snakebites. This was (just a _tad_ ) different. Carefully, Eric began to suck the venom from the bite and immediately spat it out. Then, he repeated the process. He continued until arm had gone numb from the tourniquet and there was a sour taste in his mouth. He leaned back against the tree and began to fumble with the belt. Finally managing to loosen it, he pulled it off and sighed in exhaustion.

That couldn't happen again.

Eric knew that there was every likelihood that he'd be attacked by dinosaurs again, but he couldn't let it happen again due to that _reason._

The Procompsognathus was attracted to sick and injured animals, and Eric knew his cries had certainly made him sound like the easy, pre-maimed prey compys enjoyed. He had almost been eaten alive because of his outburst back there. He couldn't let it happen again.

 _No more crying,_ he decided. _No matter how bad it gets, crying won't help. It'll only make it worse._

Eric glanced back down the tree again. The compys were gone. He doubted they'd be able to set a trap like the raptors. Slowly, he began his trek back down the tree. He jumped the remaining distance to the ground and stumbled as he landed. The venom was still making him dizzy, even if it was mostly gone. Steadying himself, he began to move through the woods.

* * *

He had found a building.

It wasn't a particularly _impressive_ building, but it was a building nonetheless, and it managed to foster hope in Eric that maybe there was a way to call for help.

He should have known better than to hope.

While there were phones, none of them actually worked. There wasn't even any power in the building, nothing electrical in the compound worked. InGen hadn't left any weapons behind; there wasn't anything he could use to defend himself against the island's other 'residents.'

But that didn't mean that he hadn't found anything helpful.

The building was a gold mine of information. Apparently after the Isla Nublar disaster, InGen made paper copies of the majority of their files on Sorna. When Nublar rebooted its power, it lost most of the data on their hard drives; the paper copies made sure the same loss didn't occur. What's more, they had left behind supplies. Eric could salvage food, lanterns, and medicine from the building.

He was tempted to stay in the compound, but he knew he couldn't. Within a few minutes of entering the building he could see signs of raptors. While the building wasn't being used as a nest, it was still frequented by the animals. It wasn't a safe place to stay.

Still, Eric couldn't bring himself to leave the first sign of humanity he'd seen since arriving on the island. He stayed there that night, curled up in an old desk chair in an attempt to sleep.

* * *

When Eric was younger, his mother had taken him to a cathedral.

Religion had been another thing his parents had fought about. His father operated on exacting, precise logic. He hadn't believed in something as intangible as God. His mother, however, was driven by wild thoughts and fervent emotion. _You don't have to see something to believe in it,_ she had whispered to him. _The best things are the ones taken on faith._ Faith had been important to her, Eric remembered. It had driven her to continue to return to church every Sunday, no matter how many fights it caused.

Then, one day, she had taken Eric with her.

Eric hadn't been sure about God. He had been torn between his parents, unsure about their opposing viewpoints. However, he had come with her that day. And he never forgot that church.

His footsteps had echoed on the floor, the sound bouncing off the walls and multiplying in the air. He had looked up at the glass windows above him and watched as the dust danced through the light and he felt… _something._ Eric wasn't sure if it was God. If it was _faith._ But he had felt it weigh on him, the solemn air of something _more._

And as Eric walked through the abandoned hatching room, he was reminded of that feeling.

It wasn't the sacred aura that the cathedral had held. It was very, very different. This room held the remains of crossed lines and shattered dreams. It was advances that really weren't advances at all, just monstrous ideas come to life. Eric felt like something was trying to crawl up his skin and take root, to forever become a part of his mind and soul.

This room was weighed down with a thousand ghosts.

Eric shook his head. The island was already making him paranoid. While the room was spooky, there was nothing supernatural about it. No ghost was going to come screaming towards him. No monster would leap at him as he turned the corner like in cheesy B film.

Then, Eric heard the soft sounds of footsteps behind him, and he reevaluated his opinion.

Normally, he wouldn't have been able to hear anything. The steps were soft, just the barely noticeable _pad pad pad_ of bare feet on a solid surface. If it weren't for the impressive resonating acoustics (oh, so like that church so long ago) in the room, Eric would have never been able to hear it. Quickly, he hid behind an overturned table and waited.

It was a raptor. The animal didn't seem to be aware of his presence, not yet at least. It was making leisurely, calm sweeps of its head as it lazily inspected the room. _What is it doing?,_ Eric wondered.

Suddenly, the velociraptor paused and began to sniff the air. Eric's breath caught in his throat. In all likelihood, the thing it was smelling was _him._ He had to get out of the building. The only problem with that plan was the fact that the raptor was between him and the exit. If he made a run for it he would be seen and, most likely, killed. The raptor, still sniffing curiously, began to slowly pad its way towards Eric's hiding place. He inched his way backwards, only to hit a wall. He couldn't retreat from his position without being seen.

Eric's hand brushed against his pocket. Maybe he could.

While he was exploring the compound, he had discovered smoke grenades. They hadn't seemed particularly useful at the time. They didn't even produce tear gas, just a harmless cloud of vapor. _But,_ they could be used to hide his retreat now. If they worked, that is. He hadn't been able to test them; there was every chance that they wouldn't work. And if they failed, the raptor would know where he was, and he would have nothing to defend himself with.

Eric took in a shaky breath and came to a decision. He'd still be found if he didn't use the grenade. His best chance would be to try it and hope for the best. With unsteady hands he pulled the device from his pocket and pulled the pin. Then, he rolled it away from the hiding place and towards the dinosaur. It teetered to a stop right next to the velociraptor. Eric held his breath as the carnivore bent down to sniff it.

Nothing was happening!

He closed his eyes in defeat. He was dead. Then, an unusual barking sound grabbed his attention. His eyes flew open.

The raptor was making a strange, pained choking sound. Smoke was pouring out of the grenade, clouding the air. A smile planted itself on his face as the raptor stumbled backwards. It was working. Not wasting time, he sprinted through the cloud and out of the room, skidding into the wall as he turned the corner. He heard the cawing of the raptor as it began to pursue. Eric could see the exit. It was fifty feet away. Forty. Twenty five. Fifteen. Then, Eric saw it. There was a metal gate that rolled down from the ceiling, like the kind that his dad used in his plumbing supplies store in the mall, at the intersection before the doors. Not breaking stride, Eric tensed his legs and jumped. His hands grabbed the bottom of the grate, and for a horrible moment he feared it wouldn't move. But then it gave with a screech, and came rumbling down towards ground. Eric tumbled to a stop against the door as it slammed into the ground. Then, an enormous crash brought his eyes shooting towards the partition.

The raptor had slammed into it seconds after in locked into place. Frustrated, it slammed its body into the gate again and again. The metal creaked and bent, but remained locked in place. A small smile touched the corners of Eric's mouth, but vanished the moment the velociraptor let loose a deep, guttural croaking noise.

 _It was calling for help._

Eric didn't want to be there when help arrived. He pulled himself to his feet and threw open the double doors. Then, he fled into the long grasses, praying that wherever he ended up would be safer than where he left.

* * *

Eric found his luck was a mixed bag.

On one hand, he seemed to have found shelter. On the other hand, he may have given himself a concussion in the process.

After fleeing InGen's compound, he had stumbled into the treeline. He didn't stop, though; he needed to put as much distance between himself and the raptors as possible. He did learn, however, through (quite painful) experience that he should have slowed down, if only slightly. He had been darting through the branches as quickly as he could when the ground gave out from under him. He tumbled down the newly discovered hill and (quite literally) clanged to a stop.

Rubbing his head, Eric looked up to see what he slammed into. In front of him was a large water truck that had been trapped in a gorge. Yanking himself to his feet, he began to slowly inspect the vehicle. There was a steel door on the side of the overturned truck. Eric winced as it creaked open. Anything could have heard that. Carefully, he pulled himself through the opening and dropped to the floor within. He glanced around the dreary space. It was dark, damp, and cold. The steel of the walls felt like ice against his skin and there were still puddles of water inside the container. _But,_ there was large metal bolts that could be drawn against the trap door. It could be used to keep dinosaurs out.

Eric smiled to himself. This could work.

* * *

The last place Eric wanted to go was back towards the raptors, but he had no choice. He needed the supplies in the building. Besides, the velociraptors had probably moved on long ago.

Or at least, that was what Eric kept telling himself.

Cautiously, Eric pulled himself out of his new home and glanced around. There didn't appear to be any dinosaurs in sight. He glanced up at the sky. In Scouts, they had learnt to tell the time by looking at the sun. Based on Eric's estimation, there was still a good four or five hours of sunlight left. He would need them. Slowly, he set out towards InGen's complex. While the trip took quite a bit more time, he avoided cracking his head against the side of a giant metal car again.

He reached the building with no trouble. Carefully, he inched open the doors and glanced inside. There wasn't a raptor in sight; not that that meant much. He crept inside and looked around. Immediately, he was thankful he hadn't stuck around earlier. The reinforced steel grate that Eric had used to block the raptor hadn't held up against whatever assistance the creature had called for. All that was left of it was a warped bunch of chains hanging from the ceiling. He began to make his way through the compound, intently listening for any signs of velociraptors.

He made his way to the supply room without a confrontation. InGen had kept their research facilities well stocked, and they hadn't had any time to clear out before abandoning it. If he carefully rationed it, he'd have enough for years.

If he lived that long, that is.

Eric slowly began to move supplies over to his water truck. He wasn't about to bring everything; that would take too long, and take up too much space. Instead, he just brought enough food and lanterns for a few weeks. That way, if something happened that limited his ability to move about the island he'd be able to hunker down in his truck for at least a couple weeks before coming back. It took a while to move the supplies, as he had to make multiple trips, but it was worth it.

Eric tugged the lab coat off its hanger. The water truck was cold, and while the jacket was thin it would provide at least a little warmth. He swung it on, and frowned curiously at the weight inside its pocket. A small, leather bound journal was resting inside the coat; it must have been forgotten when the scientist left the island. Eric glanced through it inquisitively. Whoever it belonged to must have just started it; there was only a few pages used, and all of it was in a the strange foreign language scientists employed. He couldn't understand a word. Shrugging, he slipped it back in his pocket.

Eric glanced around the center. He had already moved all the food he would need, and taken all the smoke grenades in case he ran into any raptors. He wouldn't have time for anymore trips; he didn't want to be out after dark. He slung the First Aid kit he had found over his shoulder and got ready to leave when something caught his eye. The center had a line of well stocked vending machines rusting in the corner. While he would be comforting to have a bit of traditional, rot your teeth candy, the power was out. He couldn't exactly shove in a quarter and get a chocolate bar. He glanced around for something to break the plexiglass with. While he had been studying Brazilian Jiu Jitsu since he was a little kid (his security-minded, be-prepared-for-any-eventuality father had insisted on Eric learning self-defence. He hadn't minded; he actually enjoyed the lessons), he didn't trust himself to be able to break the glass with his foot, not without injuring himself. Then, he remembered something. Quickly, he headed back to the other room and rifled through a desk drawer. He snagged a screwdriver from the opening along with a broken bit of a metal bar that had been discarded on the ground and hurried back. There, he rested the head of the screwdriver against the plexiglass and brought the metal bar down on top of it. A complex pattern of cracks spiderwebbed across the surface of the machine. Eric repeated the process and his makeshift tools crashed through the opening. He smirked at the victory and dug out a few of the bars. These would have to be even more strictly rationed than the food.

Carefully, he set back out for his new home, inspecting his surroundings as he went. Eric would have to be on high alert as he traversed the island. With a sinking feeling, he realized he would likely have to be on high alert for the rest of his life.

* * *

Eric plopped against the floor of the truck with a sigh. By all accounts, it had been a good day. He had only been attacked by dinosaurs once, and he managed to escape without a scratch. He had found supplies, and had gained valuable knowledge about how to survive.

 _If those are my standards for a good day,_ he thought, _something must be seriously wrong with me._

Still, he missed his mom and dad. For all their faults, they had been good parents. They never stopped loving Eric, even if they stopped loving each other. His eyes burned at the thought of them. He would give anything to see them one more time. _They probably think I'm dead,_ he thought. _Just like everyone else._

Eric took a deep breath and forced himself not to cry. He had only promised himself yesterday that he would stop crying; he wasn't about to break that promise. He just wished there was a way to let people know that he wasn't dead yet. Even if it wasn't found for thirty years and he had been killed long before, he wanted them to know that he hadn't died so easily. That he had survived, if only for a little while. With a groan, he turned on his side and tried to sleep.

There was a bulge in his pocket.

Eric remembered the journal he had found earlier. There were debates about what to do about the island, Eric knew that. A lot of people wanted to get permission to go and observe the animals on Sorna, but in InGen and the Costa Rican government were worried about possible deaths and the lawsuits that would ensue as a result. It was theorized that it would be years before they reached a conclusion, but Eric didn't have years. (He probably didn't even have _days._ ) But he did have a journal. And, one day, it may be found. He sat up, sleep instantly forgotten. This notebook could be a chance, he realized. A chance to say goodbye to his parents, a chance to let them know exactly how long he lasted here. He could let them know that he loved them, even if he wasn't there to say it in person.

Eric yanked the leather-bound book out of his pocket and flipped it open. Scrambling in his pockets for a pen, he pulled that out as well. The low glow of the lantern cast strange shadows on the paper, but Eric didn't mind. Then, he paused. What would he write? What could he possibly say about the situation he was in?

He could hear the noises of the island outside of his metal walls. The roars of the predators, the howling of the wind, the screeches of pain and fear from the newly prey. This was the closest anyone would ever know about what it was like in prehistoric times. Eric guiltily wished that the honor belonged to anyone but him. His resolve strengthened, he lowered the pen to paper and began to write.

 _I guess I should start with the fact that_ _my name is Eric Kirby, I'm twelve years old, and I'm not dead. Yet._

That night the wind howled, the prey screamed, and the predators roared. But Eric barely noticed.

He was too busy writing.

* * *

 **Chapter Two done! I know that Eric seemed to give up hope of being rescued pretty fast, but keep in mind that this is the deadliest place on the planet. You'd loose hope pretty quickly if you were living there. Okay, I know that not much action happened in this chapter, just the compys and the raptors, but that will change (sneak peak: next chapter we get to find out why exactly Dr. Grant didn't want to know about the t-rex pee!). Also, keep the journal in mind. It's important later. Okay, so I know that Jurassic Park III wasn't that popular with the general audience. Personally, I felt it had a lot of potential but was ruined by Hollywood. I didn't want that hurting my story anymore than it already has, so I looked the most frequent complaints with it. They seemed to be: the T-Rex vs Spinosaurus fight, the horrible special effects, and the outright stupidity displayed by some of the characters. I can't exactly change the special effects, seeing as this is in written format, so just use your imaginations for that. Some things I can't change due to the flow of the story, so I'll try and explain them in a light that makes more sense. While I will be keeping mainly to the canon Jurassic Park III, there will be some divergences from the plot. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, first of all I'd like to thank all the absolutely fantastic people that followed, favorited, and reviewed! You all are awesome! On to the story!**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Three:** The Pros and Cons ofDinosaur Urine in Survival Situations (Or: Never, Ever Mentioning This, _Ever_ Again.)

The person who had first gotten Eric interested in dinosaurs had been Dr. Alan Grant.

It was long before the San Diego Incident. Long before anyone had ever heard of Jurassic Park. Eric had been six. His mother had gone back to school; she had wanted to get a degree in Business and Marketing. At the time, his father had just opened Kirby's Paint and Tile Plus, and wasn't able to take Eric to work with him. Normally, they left him at daycare or with a babysitter, but his daycare had been closed one day and the babysitter had been sick, so his mother had taken him to school with her.

And Eric had wandered off.

In his defense, he had a really short attention span at that age, and the lecture that his mom had taken him to was enough to bore a grown man to tears.

The moment his mother looked away, he was gone. Even then, Eric was a skilled "escape artist," as his dad liked to call it. No leash, play pen, or child lock could keep him contained. Escaping the most boring lecture on the face of the planet had been easy. He had been wandering through the university's hallways unnoticed when he had come upon a set of double doors, one of which was slightly cracked open.

Eric went inside.

A man had been lecturing at the head of the dark room. At the time, Eric hadn't known who he was. He did know, however, that whoever this guy was, he had to be cool. With the cowboy hat, bandana, and overall rugged appearance, he looked kinda like Indiana Jones. Deciding that this talk was infinitely better than the one his mom was currently in, Eric quietly found a seat in the back and sat down.

The lecture had been about dinosaurs.

Eric hadn't understood most of the words they used. He didn't really understand how paleontology worked. But none of that had mattered. Because Eric was good at telling how people felt. He could tell when his mom was mad at his dad, and when his babysitter was trying not to cry because her boyfriend had been stupid. He knew when his teacher was about to snap and put him in time out, and when his dad was too annoyed to play catch with him. Everyday, Eric learnt new emotions to match with the faces people made.

And that day, Eric learnt what impassioned looked like.

The guy teaching his mom's lecture couldn't care less about what he was saying, Eric knew that. He was too busy trying not to stare at the pretty girl in the third row with that strange _flustered-embarrassed_ look Eric didn't know the word for yet. It was one of the reasons why he had left so soon. But the Indiana Jones look alike did care about what he was talking about. He had the excited eyes and enthused expression of someone who truly loved what he did.

He didn't sound like he was talking about dusty old bones. He sounded like he was talking about something that moved and breathed and _lived._

Eric had been hooked.

After the lecture ended, Eric stayed in his chair. Even after the formal-looking lady in the corner told everyone to _please thank Dr. Grant for coming_ and all the students left, Eric sat in his too-big-for-him seat, swinging his legs as he watched Dr. Grant pack up the fossils he had brought. "Did velociraptors really eat things so much bigger than them?" he questioned, his young voice filled with curiosity.

Grant looked up in surprise. He squinted back towards where Eric was sitting. "I didn't know anyone was still in here," he called, scanning the back row for the source of the voice.

Eric shot to his feet and ran down the aisle to give the professor a better view. "So did they? 'Cause their bones looked a lot smaller than that hadrosaur thing, but you said that velociraptors could kill them when they hunted together. How do you know if they lived eight-," Eric frowned as he tried to remember the number, "eighty five million years ago?"

"We can tell from the grooves left in the bone fragments… Uh, shouldn't you be with your parents?" he stammered awkwardly.

Eric tilted his head. "You look scared," he said in the matter-of-fact, blunt manner only children seemed to possess. "Why? Kids aren't scary."

"I'm not scared," he denied immediately.

Eric rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. He had seen his babysitter, Cindy, do it, and had been mimicking the move ever since. "You shouldn't lie," he informed the doctor. "Grown ups always say that lying is bad, but then they do it. It's stupid. I'm Eric."

Dr. Grant bent down to his level. "Well, Eric, where's your dad?"

"At work."

"What about your mom?"

Eric crinkled his nose. "She's in some boring class. The guy teaching doesn't even like the class. He likes the lady in the third row that's wearing all the makeup." He bent closer to the table to inspect the fossils lying there.

This seemed to throw Grant. "Uh-okay… So, Eric, do you like dinosaurs?"

Eric glanced up at him. "I think I do now," he said honestly.

Dr. Grant gave him a genuine smile. "I did too when I was your age. Here," he said, suddenly frazzled again. He turned around to his bag and pulled something out of it. Turning back around, he handed it to Eric. It was a small, plastic dinosaur. A velociraptor. "When I was your age, I had tons of these things. One of my grad students gave me that one a few days ago. How about you keep it, and start up a collection of your own, and we go find your mom before she gets worried?"

Eric nodded dutifully, staring at the gift in appreciation. "Wait!" he said, an idea suddenly coming upon him. He rooted around in his pants pocket before tugging out a crumpled five dollar bill. "That's my tooth fairy money. Well, I know that my dad was really the one that put it under my pillow, but he doesn't know that I know," he glanced up at Dr. Grant, suddenly worried. "Please don't tell my parents that I know! Mom'd get upset, and then they'd fight again."

"I won't tell."

"Promise?" Eric pressed, with all the seriousness a six year old could muster.

A smile quirked at the edges of Dr. Grant's lips. "I promise."

Eric smiled, happy again. "Here," he said, handing over the bill. "That lady said that you needed donations to dig up dinosaurs."

Dr. Grant rushed to reply. "That's very generous of you Eric, but-"

"No," Eric replied stubbornly. "You can't give back a gift once it's given. It's against the rules."

Luckily, Dr. Grant seemed to know when he was fighting a losing battle. "Thank you, Eric. Now, let's get you back to your mom."

Suddenly, there was a commotion from the hall outside. The two of them glanced towards the double doors, and Eric winced when he heard his panicked mom calling, "Eric! Eric!"

"Uh-oh," he said. He had meant to be back before his mom's class ended. She had left him at the side of the room with his toys and books while she diligently took notes; he hadn't even thought she would notice him gone. He was in trouble now. He quickly took two steps towards the doors before stopping. Maybe it was because he was at that age where he tried the first thing that popped into his head. Maybe he just wanted to see how the professor would react. For whatever reason, Eric turned around, ran back to the still-kneeling doctor, and tossed his arms around his neck. Then, he ended the hug as quickly as it began and ran out of the room without a backwards glance. "Thanks, Dr. Grant!" he called over his shoulder. The double doors slammed shut, leaving the stunned paleontologist alone in the lecture hall.

After that moment, Eric had become obsessed with dinosaurs. He read all the books his class had (which were the lame, mass produced storybooks that depicted brachiosaurus going to school and dealing with bullies), then snuck out his window and walked to the library to get some _real_ dinosaur books when he decided those weren't good enough. His parents called the police when they noticed him missing. A policeman had found him in the center of waist-high stacks of paleontology books way above his age level. He got to ride in a cop car on the way to the station, and the policeman even let him turn on the sirens. (That same policeman had to hide in the bathroom to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.) His parents had been upset and distraught when he got back.

Incidentally, that was the same day they discovered he was interested in dinosaurs.

Even as he grew, his love of the extinct creatures never wore off. The moment he had learnt Dr. Grant had written a book, he read it. It had been like sitting in that dark lecture hall again, listening to a man who was completely enthralled by creatures that had died millions of years earlier. The same fervent admiration and respect was still there, seeping out of every word in that book.

Then, the San Diego Incident happened, and the truth about Jurassic Park was revealed.

And Dr. Grant wrote another book.

The passion, the _love_ Dr. Grant had had for dinosaurs were gone. The respect was still there, but it was tinged with the wary fear of someone observing a rabid wolf.

So Eric read Dr. Malcom's book.

After all, they had both been in Jurassic Park. Perhaps reading the other book would better explain what had happened to Eric's idol. He even read one of Malcolm's earlier books about chaos theory and nonlinear equations to compare the mathematician's writing before and after the Incident.

But there was no difference. Both books held the haughty, self-assured tone of someone completely and utterly drunk on their own personality. And Eric was forced to come to a depressing conclusion.

Dr. Alan Grant simply did not like dinosaurs anymore.

When Eric had first arrived on Sorna, he had been afraid the same thing would happen to him. That he would loose the sheer _wonder_ he used to feel towards dinosaurs.

But that didn't happen.

* * *

Eric pushed as close to the end of the branch as he dared. As he had predicted, he had become extremely accustomed to trees in his time on the island. However, it was not due to the reasons he imagined. He still used it as a means to escape carnivores, but recently he had begun to use them for very different functions.

Like now.

Eric had discovered a valley. It was enclosed by steep sides that funneled into narrow openings at both ends. A long river snaked through the area, and on top of the walls of the valley there were tall trees that branched over the edge.

That was where Eric was now.

The valley was a thriving ecosystem frequented by herbivores. Ankylosaurs marched by the river, apatosaurus roamed in herds, and gallimimus stampeded through the grass. A part of him wished he could enter the valley itself, even if he knew he would likely get trampled. And that wasn't even the main danger.

The main danger was the velociraptors.

There were at least three packs of velociraptors on the island, Eric had discovered. The first pack nested in an old, abandoned maintenance building on the other end of the island. Eric, rightly valuing his life, had never entered the complex. Eric wasn't entirely certain where the second nest was located, but, based on the territory that pack patrolled, he suspected it was near where he and Ben had crash landed. That was likely the reason for Ben's death; they had gotten too close to the nest. If they had landed almost anywhere else, Ben would still be alive. And the third pack was located on the edges of this valley.

Eric jerked his head towards the sound of the parasaurs trumpeting. Immediately, he brought a pair of pilfered binoculars to his eyes and began scanning the field. He had a theory about this behavior, and he wanted to see it confirmed.

He smiled in triumph as he saw the apatosaurus herd automatically turn their bodies around, swinging their long, defensive tails in a protective arc. The parasaurs clustered closer behind the larger animals, and Eric knew he had been right.

When he had first stumbled on this valley, one of the first thing he had noticed was the unusual behaviorisms of the apatosaurus and the parasaurs. They always remained clustered together, regardless of the cross species differences. Then, he developed a hypothesis.

Eric had learnt about it in biology class. In Africa, zebras, with their good sense of smell, and baboons, with their fantastic eyesight, often remained close together because they were more effective against predators as a team. This mutually beneficial relationship had been called inter-species symbiosis. And apatosaurus, who possessed incredibly strong defensive tails yet terrible eyesight, would greatly benefit from the weak but clear-sighted parasaurs. A mutual predator defense.

Now, he just had to locate the predator.

Eric watched as the streaks of greenish-brown darted across the field. Automatically, many of the herds clustered into a defensive form around their children. Eric spotted the aptly named "good mother" dinosaur, the maiasaurs, cluster around their babies. But that didn't save them from the raptors.

Eric couldn't help but be a little… _awestruck_ at their attack strategies. The killing machines darted in and out of gaps, separating the herd and striking at the weakest links. They quickly dragged away their kill, snapping at anything that approached. The maiasaur herd thundered and cried, with the one that Eric suspected to be the prey's mother the loudest, but it was too late. There was nothing they could do to save their children.

They couldn't even leave the valley.

What astonished Eric the most was the fact that the velociraptors were _herding_ the dinosaurs. They had corralled them into space, and attacked anything that tried to leave. While the raptors wisely did not hinder the coming and going of some of the larger herbivores, such as the few brachiosaurus that frequented the area, anything small enough to bring down was trapped inside, destined to be struck down at the leisure of the predators.

It was intelligent. It was sophisticated. And it was not what scientists speculated about dinosaurs at all.

Ironically enough, one of the earliest theories about dinosaurs was closest to reality. Richard Owen theorized in the 1800s that the _Dinosaura_ had been a combination of bird, crocodile, and lizard. He envisioned quick, energetic creatures that had the grace and movements of birds. However, soon the idea of slow, unintelligent creatures became dominant, and Owen was pushed to the side. Only recently did scientists begin to return to that previous image, but even then they had underestimated the creatures by far.

Eric pulled out his journal and hastened to record the behaviors of the animals. Like the trees, his original function for the notebook had changed. At first, it was a way to maybe let his parents know what had happened to him. Now, however, it was part field journal, part how-to-survive-on-this-crazy-island cheat sheet for any future castaways. He did leave a note in the journal for whomever found it, asking that they gave it to his parents if and when they managed to escape.

And that was a big "if."

Eric had tried, of course, to find a way off. He had lugged palm branches up to the roof of the lab and built an 'SOS' message for any passing planes. The problem was, no planes passed over the island. It was restricted airspace, and no one was actually stupid enough to fly over it for fear of crashing there.

Which meant there was zero results from that attempt at rescue.

Then, Eric had tried to make his way to the coast. He figured that there may have been a boat left behind by InGen, and if not, then he could always try and make one. After all, he was only a few miles off the coast of Costa Rica. It wouldn't be that hard to make his way back, or so Eric had hoped. Unfortunately, he made the depressing discover that the closer to the coast you got, the bigger things get. He eventually came to the conclusion that pushing on meant almost certain death, and returned to his water truck.

All of his escape attempts had the exact same results: failure.

Suddenly, the branch he was on bucked and shook under him. Eric's eyes shot up, looking for the disturbance, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight that greeted him.

A brachiosaur. It was perched on its hind legs to reach the trees on the cliff, calmly biting off huge mouthfulls of leaves. Eric watched as it fell back to all fours, shaking the ground as it landed. Then, it bent its massive neck towards ground. Curious, Eric leaned over to see what it was doing. A much younger brachiosaur, a baby really, was following closely behind its massive counterpart. The parent was feeding its child, offering it some of the leaves still hanging out of its mouth. Eric smiled as it tumbled over itself to get to the food, its awkward neck unbalancing the still-growing animal. Then, the adult raised back on its hind legs and returned to the tree.

And it looked at Eric.

Slowly, Eric lifted his hand, not breaking its massive gaze. Then, he carefully pressed his hand against the leathery skin.

The brachiosaur didn't move away from Eric's caress. It just stared at him with large, intelligent orbs.

Hot puffs of the animal's breath blew on his face, rustling his hair. Shakily, Eric smiled.

Then, the dinosaur pulled back, falling down to the ground, shaking the earth as it landed. It nudged its child with its head and turned around, the two creatures heading off towards the slowly descending sun.

Eric watched them leave.

He clenched the fist that had touched the brachiosaur. That had been…. he didn't even know what to call it. There were no words for what he had just experienced. But he did know one thing.

He didn't hate this island.

He didn't even hate the dinosaurs.

If he had the choice, he'd leave in an instant. He'd go home to his mom and dad and try to move past everything that had happened here. He'd try to forget all the pain and the horror and the suffering he had experienced. But he would never hate the dinosaurs.

People tended to only see this island as one thing. Some saw it as a fantastic paradise, a Lost World. They only had awestruck images of kindly, parental creatures that would allow humans to intrude and meddle with their lives at the leisure of scientists. They saw unintelligent, benevolent creatures that could be poked and prodded without consequence. They saw the illusion the Jurassic Park had tried to create. On a level, they knew that the dinosaurs were dangerous, but they didn't truly understand what that meant. In their minds, humans would always be on the top of the food chain, and no prehistoric predator could change that.

Others, like Dr Grant, saw monsters. They saw carnivores creeping up from behind trees, ready to _rip and tear and kill_ without restraint. They saw an island where everything was a risk, a danger that should be destroyed. Everything they saw filled them with fear.

They were all wrong.

This island had more than one side of it. It had predators that stalked and parents that doted and herds that roamed. It was a thousand different things, all mixing together and interacting and _alive._ This island had animals on it that were complex and intelligent and yes, dangerous, but undeniably more so if you disrespected them as so many others had.

And Eric didn't hate them for being dangerous. It was just their nature. There was no malevolent intent, just deep rooted, primal instinct that dictated how they lived and survived.

Eric didn't even hate the velociraptors.

They had killed Ben. Torn him to shreds right in front of Eric. But they hadn't done it out of some kind of sociopathic urge. They killed him because he was a threat to the nest, an intruder on their territory. It wasn't for murderous sport, for some sick twisted idea of fun.

Only people killed for those reasons.

Eric glanced at the sun and sighed. While there was still hours of sunlight yet, he needed to head back. He always gave himself hours to return to his water truck, so that if there were any complications on the return trip he'd still get back before night fall. If there was one thing Eric was absolutely terrified to experience, it was this island after dark.

* * *

Eric assessed the jump in front of him. He had made it before, but that didn't necessarily mean that he could make it again.

The problem was the tree. The tree with the best view of the valley didn't have any branches low enough to climb. So, he had climbed the neighboring tree and grabbed onto the closest branch. He had to leap to get to it, but he had managed it. Now, however, he had to figure out how to do it a second time.

Eric took a deep breath and tensed his legs. Then, before he could change his mind he jumped. His middle smacked into the tree, knocking his breath out of him. He threw his arms around the tree, but was already slipping. At last second, his hands found purchase. Slowly, he pulled himself up, wincing as he went.

Soon, Eric was back on solid ground. He adjusted his leaf covering and carefully set off through the jungle. He had gotten better at traversing the island, but that didn't mean it was safe. On the contrary, each time he set out he encountered new and terrifying obstacles (the dilophosaurus had been particularly horrible).

Slowly, he had been mapping the island. Originally, he was planning on staying near the lab, figuring that was where a rescue party would start. Then, he came to terms with the fact that no rescue party would be coming and decided that if he didn't explore at least part of the island he may be missing valuable methods of escape (such as the boat that he never found). So, he cautiously began to venture out. Some areas, he avoided entirely. Any sign of large footprints or a sudden excess of skeletons had him fleeing in the opposite direction.

He wasn't as familiar with this area, however. He hadn't had time to explore it properly.

Which was probably why he almost ended up getting eaten.

The smell had been the first indication.

It hadn't been the rotten scent of a decaying body. It hadn't even been the sour, bloody scent that seemed to follow carnivores wherever they went.

Frankly, it had smelt like urine.

Which was accurate, seeing as it had turned out to be urine.

Some animals, such as horses and raccoons, were known to habitually return to the same spot to… _relieve_ themselves. These sites were called latrines. And apparently, some species of dinosaurs used them as well. Eric wasn't sure what animal had used this latrine, but he definitely did not want to meet them. The puddles of urine were massive, and he could see bones sticking out of the piles of excrement. He was about to turn to leave when he saw it.

The puddles were shaking.

Tiny ripples spread across the surface of the liquid, and Eric felt the earth shake beneath him. Impact tremors. From something very, very big.

He needed to run. He needed to get out of there before the whatever-it-was showed up and ate him.

But it was too late.

Eric had only turned around when it entered the clearing. It towered over him and cast its piercing gaze about the clearing. Its nostrils took in puffs of air once, twice, three times. It was sniffing the air, searching the area for nearby prey.

The Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Years ago, a paleontologist named Roxton had made a cast of the braincase of a T-Rex. He theorized that it had a brain similar to amphibians and, like amphibians, its vision depended on movement. Popular media had latched onto the idea, and suddenly everyone thought that it was a proven fact that t-rexes couldn't see you if you stood very, very still.

But it was still only a theory.

And until a few years ago, there were no Tyrant Kings around to test the theory.

Even then, nobody was really willing to. Most people ran at first sight of the Rex. Nobody was about to risk their lives based on the hope that Roxton was right. In the end, they decided they had better chances at outrunning it.

But Eric didn't.

He was trapped. In front of him was the dinosaur, behind him was the latrine. While Eric was fast, the Rex had a much larger stride and could run at 30 mph. The trees weren't even dense here, he couldn't lose it by weaving through a thick patch of the forest. If he tried to flee, he would die.

And so Eric stood very, very still.

As the dinosaur slowly thudded towards him, sweeping its head from side to side, Eric tried not to think about all the conflicts that came with Roxton's theory. A Tyrannosaur was a predator, some had argued. It needed to hunt, and prey's first instinct was to freeze like a deer in headlights. That kind of vision didn't make sense. Others had argued in favor of the theory, claiming that such a terrible vision may explain why it had such an evolved sense of smell. It didn't need to see, because its nose more than made up for it.

But no one really knew for sure. Including Eric.

He tried to reassure himself that Roxton could have been correct. Even if he hadn't been correct, InGen had used amphibian DNA to fill in the genetic gaps. The vision problems could have been a side effect. There was every possibility the T-Rex couldn't see him.

There was also every possibility that it could.

It came to a stop five yards away from him, then lowered its head towards Eric, sniffing intently. _It thinks I'm here,_ Eric realized. _It's just not sure yet._ Eric stood stock still as the dinosaur inhaled deeply, trying not to breathe. Despite its fantastic nose, it probably couldn't smell him. He had chosen these leaves for his covering because of their sharp scent. It acted as a good camouflage against some of the bloodhound-esque dinosaurs. Even then, he was standing next to a massive pool of urine and excrement. It probably couldn't smell past its own waste.

Slowly, the head drew back. Eric held in a sigh of relief. It couldn't see him. He could just wait until it left, then go on his way.

His relief was short lived. The Rex quickly shot its head back towards the immobile boy, and let loose a massive roar.

Eric didn't move.

It wasn't out of some kind of insane bravado. It wasn't a decision to call the animal's bluff. On the contrary, all Eric wanted to do was run; he simply couldn't. Staring into the giant maw of the creature, still able to see the mangled remains of its last meal, with its hot, wet breath hitting him, Eric froze. He could see those massive, sharp teeth and how close they were to him, and it made his legs lock in fear.

He couldn't move.

Finally satisfied that there was nothing there, the Rex drew back its head for the last time. Eric tried not to collapse in relief. He could feel his legs going weak, but he made himself remain still. He wasn't out of the woods yet; the Rex could still hear him if he moved. But the worst was over. He just had to stay unnoticed for a little while longer, and nothing else would go wrong.

Famous last words.

The hot, smelly stream hitting him shocked Eric more than anything else that had happened that day. Piece by piece, Eric managed to put this new revelation together.

He was standing next to a latrine. A _Tyrannosaurus Rex's_ latrine. Where he had encountered a Tyrannosaur. That didn't know he was there. So it carried on with its original goal. Which was to urinate. _Right where Eric was standing._

The T-Rex was _peeing_ on him.

Quickly, Eric promised himself to never, _ever_ tell _anyone_ what just happened. He wouldn't even put this event in the journal; it was too embarrassing. Finally, the stream let up. Eric stood there, absolutely _soaked_ in hot, dinosaur pee while the Rex thundered its way out of the clearing. Then, Eric lifted his hand and wiped some of the urine off of his face. He stood there for a moment, _reeking_ of pee, before he slowly began to squish his way home. He would have to stop at a stream to wash off on his way back; there was no way Eric was going to spend the rest of his life smelling like a porta-potty.

A chirp next to his head drew his attention. A compy scout was staring at him from a boulder, its head tilted in concentration. Eric sighed and prepared to run. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with. At least three times a week, these things had tried to eat him. They still hadn't succeeded yet, but a few times had been close calls. The moment the scout called the attack signal, he would have to run. Too soon and the scout would automatically latch onto his body in an attempt to hold him for the rest of the pack, too late and the rest of the compys would overwhelm him. He'd have to wait for the right moment.

That moment never happened.

The compy took in two tiny, delicate sniffs and promptly screeched in terror, falling off the boulder in an attempt to get away. Eric watched dumbfounded as the rest of the pack swarmed out of their hiding places, tumbling over themselves in their haste to follow the scout. Tentatively, he lifted his hand up to his nose and sniffed his wrist. Choking, he turned his head away. He definitely had a peculiar _odor_ at the moment.

But, this odor had managed to scare away the compys. So it wasn't all bad.

An idea came to him. If the T-Rex pee had scared off the compys, maybe it would scare off some of the other dinosaurs. Smiling, he sloshed his way back to the latrine and knelt by a puddle. Then, he pulled a glass conical flask from his bag. He scooped some of the liquid into the container, corked it, and tucked it back in his ratty satchel. Happy, he set out on the path once more.

He hadn't even been walking for five minutes when the ground began to shake again. Across the clearing, glaring at him, was a massive dinosaur with a long snout and a sail fin. With a sinking heart, Eric watched as it sniffed once, twice, three times. He would bet _anything_ that it was smelling the T-Rex urine. It rumbled, then roared before beginning to run towards Eric.

Well, crap.

* * *

Eric could feel that it was gaining on him. When it had started to approach him, Eric hadn't hesitated. He ran.

Unfortunately, the apex predator appeared to be faster than him.

He was rapidly losing the small margin of land that he had originally possessed between them. By his estimate, he was only barely out of the animal's bite range.

A slight breeze coming towards him was the only indication he was wrong. Quickly, he dove to the ground, shoulder rolled forward, and jumped back to his feet to avoid the bone crushing snap of the carnivore's massive jaws. Apparently he was, in fact, within the dinosaur's bite range.

Eric swore as he encountered his next obstacle. In his path there was a thick copse of trees, too close together for Eric to weave through. Not slowing, he dived into the hollow log that intersected the trees.

The dinosaur picked it up.

Eric saw the cracks appear in the wood as the teeth crunched down on his shelter. He struggled out of the log just as the maw of the creature tore through the hollow structure. He fell to the ground right in front of the dinosaur, then struggled to his feet and continued running. The animal threw the pieces of broken log to the side and let loose an enraged roar.

Another roar answered it.

Eric skidded to a stop as he took in the sight before him. The T-Rex he had encountered earlier had entered the area directly in front of him, and was glaring in challenge at the other dinosaur. Which so happened to be directly behind Eric.

These two dinosaurs were going to fight. And Eric was currently between them.

Deciding to remedy this situation, he sprinted to the side just as the Rex began to advance. He heard them growl and clash, but he didn't stop.

That is, he didn't stop until they almost slammed into him.

Eric skidded to a halt as the Rex drove the sail-finned animal up against a cliff face, its jaw clamped firmly around the animal's throat. He spun in the other direction and kept moving, only to fall to the ground as the sail-finned dinosaur turned the tables on the Rex. The Tyrannosaur slammed to the ground inches away from Eric, causing him to tumble to his knees. The T-Rex lashed out with his tail, bringing down the other dinosaur. Eric struggled to his feet in the midst of the conflict. He had to get out of here before he was crushed.

Eric sprinted over to the edge of the clearing, where he had spotted an arrangement of boulders. There, in the center of the fixture, there was a crevice just large enough for Eric to take shelter in. Wriggling into the space, he hunkered down until the fight ended.

It probably would have been infinitely cooler if it hadn't run the risk of killing him. Still, a part of him couldn't help but be fascinated (and completely and absolutely _terrified_ ) at the battle before him. He watched as they exchanged blows, utilizing their teeth and bodies and tails in the struggle for dominance. Eventually, the sail-finned creature retreated, leaving the Rex as the victor. It roared in triumph before rumbling away, leaving Eric alone in the devastated clearing.

He waited several minutes before tugging his way free of the boulders. Eric groaned and buried his face in his hands.

He had recognized that dinosaur. A Spinosaurus aegyptiacus.

Now, the only question was: What the hell was it doing here?

* * *

After the San Diego Incident, InGen had released a list of every dinosaur they had ever made. They had to, with how the public had reacted. The people had wanted to know exactly what had been brought back, and InGen had had no choice but to cooperate.

The Spinosaurus hadn't been on that list.

Which begged the question: What else had they been hiding?

Which was how Eric found himself back in InGen's labs, still wet but not as smelly. After a quick stop at a creek to rid himself of stench, he had made his way to InGen's file room in hopes of tracking down the Spinosaurus' files.

InGen probably should have invested in better locks. If a stranded twelve year old could pick them, so could the people committing corporate espionage.

Of course, those same people would have had to survive the dinosaur-infested island, so he guessed it evened out.

The problem Eric had soon encountered was the fact that the Spinosaurus did not appear to have any files. At all. Which was ridiculous, seeing as InGen had documented _everything._

Eric groaned and kicked the closest file cabinet. Then, he grabbed his foot in pain and hopped in place to keep his balance.

He failed.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Eric shook his head in frustration. He was running out of time, and he still had yet to figure out what was on this island. Honestly, if he was a multibillion dollar conglomerate, where would he hide the files he didn't want anyone to see?

How about the file cabinet that had an uncharacteristic amount of locks?

Apparently falling on his face had been of use; it had put the cabinet directly in his line of sight. Smiling, Eric hurried to the cabinet. Seven paper clips, a broken pen, and a fire axe later, it was open.

There was only three files in the cabinet. The top one was about the Spinosaurus.

Eric put them in his bag. He was running out of time; the sun would set soon. Quickly, he exited the building and made his way into the forest.

* * *

Eric still wasn't sure about God.

After all, it had been a major point of contention his entire life. Who to side with: Mom or Dad? Now, here, he found himself hoping that He was real. It was somewhat comforting to think that even if he died a terrible, painful death here there was a Heaven where he didn't have to worry about being eaten alive. A place where he could see his parents again.

His mom had told him that God didn't always stop bad things from happening to you. For whatever reason in the big plan of things, He allowed them to happen. But, she had promised that He never gave you more than you could handle.

And now Eric was trapped on an island entirely inhabited by things that could and would kill him.

Sometimes, he felt like breaking down. He felt like screaming at the sky that this was without a doubt so much more than he could handle. That whatever His plan was, would He please make a new one because Eric didn't think he could handle this one for much longer.

But then he remembered the promise he had made to himself so long ago, and he packed all the fear and pain into a small part of his heart and locked it away. He crammed it all down and refused to cry because _he was not ready to die yet._ So he kept silent and kept moving, kept fighting another day.

Eric knew he couldn't keep going like this. That sooner or later he wouldn't be able to push it down any longer, and that would be the moment that he _really_ couldn't handle it any longer.

Eric was scared of what he would do when that day came.

But it hadn't come yet. So Eric kept pushing and moving and fighting.

And he would keep doing that for as long as he could handle.

* * *

The longer he stayed on the island, the more his water truck felt like home.

By his count, he had only been on Sorna for around three weeks, but it felt like _so much longer._ The days were blurring together, feeling like weeks and months and years.

Feeling like eternity.

And for every day of that eternity, Eric had returned to his water truck.

There wasn't much he could do in the way of decor, considering where he was. He did, however, make some adjustments to the space.

On the wall there was a crude crucifix that he had scratched into the metal with his raptor claw. While he wasn't sure if he believed in God, it had given him hope. That there was something more, _someone_ more, that was looking out for him. That maybe, just maybe, everything would somehow be okay.

On the other wall he had written: _Eric Kirby lives here._ Maybe he had just wanted to put his mark on the island, let whoever found it know that he had been there, had existed. Maybe he was simply scared that is he didn't look at his name every day, he'd forget it. Maybe it didn't matter. Whatever the reason, his name was forever etched into the metal of his tiny home.

Sometimes, he felt it was strange how readily he had begun to refer to it as his home. Despite only being here a short time, it felt like that. He could barely even remember his old home. It was getting harder and harder to remember the sound of his father's laugh, the smell of his mother's perfume, what his parents had looked like when they smiled.

And that scared him more than he could say.

Eric turned on the lantern when he entered. It only provided feeble illumination and caused shadows to dance on walls, but he loved it nonetheless. He was scared of the time when they would run out, and his home would be trapped in darkness.

He left the door open. He liked the fresh air, and the sun hadn't set yet. He would be able to close it if he heard any approaching animals, and he'd make sure to lock it before nightfall.

He touched the crucifix as he entered out of habit. Then, he sat cross legged on the ground and cracked open the InGen files. In each file, several bits stood out to him.

 _ **Spinosaurus aegyptiacus**_

 _Species of dinosaur was unknown until hatched._

 _Scientists have observed an incredibly high aggression index…. Highly territorial…. Subject has shown a marked disdain towards Tyrannosaurus rex, possibly sees it as rival..._

 _Viability for Nublar:_ _ **Low.**_ _Subject too aggressive for audience._

 _Suggested Course:_ _ **Extermination.**_ _Subject too dangerous further use. Termination recommended._

Eric snorted. Obviously, that didn't happen. He flipped to the next file.

 _ **Tylosaurus**_

 _Aquatic… DNA extracted from bone fragments… Highly territorial…_

 _Subject is known to claim area as territory and does not venture further in order to protect territory…_

 _Will theoretically grow to the length of fifty feet…_

 _Viability for Nublar:_ _ **High.**_ _Suggested to move as soon as a stable enclosure can be constructed._

 _Suggested Course:_ _ **Continuation as long containment is viable.**_ _Subject poses great danger to outside world if released. Has high opportunities for further research and exhibition on Nublar._

Eric paused. InGen had created an aquatic dinosaur. He hadn't thought it was possible, due to the unlikelihood of them ever finding a viable DNA fragment. But why hadn't they included it on the list? It was territorial… Had it attacked the boat? Was it even still alive? Eric shook his head. There were too many questions. He moved onto the next file.

 _ **Troodon pectinodon**_

 _Nocturnal…. Subject's eyes show signs of Tapetum lucidum…. Pack hunters…. Subjects have displayed an extremely high intelligence..._

 _Subjects highly poisonous… If untreated, toxin causes hallucinations, convulsions, seizures, paralysis, and brain death. Immediately inject victim with_ _ **AVTP…**_

Eric stopped. He recognized that acronym. He pulled out his first aid kit. There, in a neat line, was five syringes labelled AVTP. The antivenom for the troodon bite. He continued reading.

 _Subjects placed in Quarantine Pen Four. Velociraptors located in Quarantine Pen Three. Velociraptors have been observed avoiding the border between two enclosures… Rogue troodon broke into velociraptor paddock… Raptors observed driving rogue out of enclosure to protect territory…_

 _Subjects observed attacking prey with an initial bite, then retreating. Subjects stalk prey as it is slowly worn down by venom. Once unable to defend itself, subjects drag paralyzed prey to nest…._

 _Received reports from Nublar about breeding by various species. Game wardens sedated subjects and entered enclosure in search of eggs. Subjects had laid eggs in the abdomens of paralyzed prey. Most recently victimized prey still alive…_

 _Viability to Nublar:_ _ **Negligible.**_ _Subject is too intelligent and poisonous to be used for park. Poses too high a risk to humans for exposure to public._

 _Suggested Course:_ _ **Extermination.**_ _Subject too dangerous for further use. Termination recommended._

* * *

That night, Eric stared into the darkness, deep in thought. He had long ago shut himself in the water truck, locking out the wilderness. To conserve his fuel, he shut off the lantern, leaving himself in the darkness. He didn't care. He was too busy focusing on what he had learnt.

Three undisclosed species. And he could only accurately place one on the island.

The sheer stupidity of InGen's scientists stunned him. They had been just growing whatever dinosaur DNA they had found and figured out the species after it hatched. And as a result they had brought back some of the deadliest dinosaurs known to man.

Eric would have to be even more careful from now on. He had no desire to be caught by the Spinosaurus, or, even worse, the troodons.

Eric sighed. No matter how many new experiences he had on this island, a few aspects of life had become routine. That night he had locked down the truck, eaten his rations, made a tick in the _Days Survived_ chart in his journal, shut off the lantern and laid to listen down to listen to the sounds of the island, just as he had every day for the past few weeks. Sleep would come much, much later. And once it came, it would be filled with nightmares of claws and teeth and death. That too, had unfortunately become routine.

He missed his family. The loss of, well, _everyone_ had become a constant, throbbing pain in his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to call up the faces of his parents. That too, had become routine. And every time it had become harder and harder to remember. He didn't want to forget his family. He didn't want to forget who he had used to be. But it seemed to be inevitable the longer he remained on the island.

Eric rolled on his side. It was time to complete the last piece of his routine.

"Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad," he whispered to the empty truck.

His only answer was the howl of the island.

* * *

 **Okay! Notes on this chapter:**

 **I hope I handled the depiction of Dr. Grant alright. That took place pre-Jurassic Park, so he hadn't met Tim and Lex yet and therefore still didn't like kids. Eric, however, had been at that cute innocent age where anyone who hates them is a total jerk. Grant seemed to be okay with terrifying obnoxious preteens, but I think that he'd just be really, really uncomfortable around little kids. I hope that I showed that. Frankly, I have no idea where that entire scene came from. I had just been thinking that Eric had read** _ **both**_ **of Grant's books, not just the one about Nublar, and that made me think that maybe he was a big fan of Grant's before Jurassic Park came out, and then suddenly a mini Eric was hugging the good doctor and donating his tooth fairy money. Also, I had imagined both Owen and Eric as one of those resourceful, adventurous kids that are total handful for their parents, so I tried to show that by him running off multiple times.**

Chaotican: **I hope that Eric's How to Train Your Dragon moment with the brachiosaur was awe-inspiring enough for you. That entire thing was created because of your great review!**

 **Also, on the whole valley scene: some of the aspects of that was taken from the book the Lost World, like the mutual predator defense. Crichton had put so much research into that, and I was so upset that it wasn't in the movie. But the movie was too concerned with cramming as much of Jeff Goldblum running away from dinosaurs and being vindicated to have any of that. So, I put it in here as homage to him. Seriously, if you haven't, read the books. They are fantastic.**

 **Also, the book and the movie seemed sort of divided on the whole "T-Rex sight thing." The movies seemed to say it was correct, with Grant's whole, "nobody move a muscle" thing, and the books basically said Roxton was so stupid that it was a wonder he had ever figured out how to dress himself. I tried to incorporate both parts of that. The Rex can't see movement, but Eric isn't sure if that was due to the amphibian DNA or if the dinosaur had always been like that. I kinda needed it to not be able to see him so that it would pee on him. I was planning that from the start. Obviously, I am evil towards fictional characters. Also, yay for Rexy! She won that fight. I will be keeping the victor of the movie fight because changing it would interrupt the flow of the story, but there will be an explanation about it, just wait.**

 **Also, those files he found becomes important later, keep an eye on them.**

 **Okay! Next chapter is going to be the last chapter of Eric's solo time on Sorna. Then, we go into Jurassic Park III. Stuff gets serious next chapter. Also,** icanhascamaro, **the next chapter is the closest thing Eric will have to positive velociraptor interaction on this island. I hope it lives up to your expectations. Thanks for reading everyone!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay! Warning time. In this chapter, there is a injury. There will be blood. If you're like my sister, who faints at the very thought of blood, don't read it! You have officially been warned!**

 **Thanks so much to all of you who followed and favorited! Thanks to** icanhascamaro, Mas2009, iiio, Everything'sGonnaBeAlright, Countdown **and** Chaotician **for their absolutely amazing reviews! In response to questions:**

icanhascamaro: **I wanted to say thanks for always giving such detailed reviews! I always appreciate feedback! I'm glad to hear Eric doesn't seem like a Gary Stu, I was trying to avoid that. In my mind, he was a kid that barely managed to survive based off of his intelligence and resourcefulness, not someone who skated by on that island with superhuman skill. I had a massive debate with myself about whether Eric would know about the Spinosaurus when Billy didn't, and there was actually more extensive reasoning than the fact that Eric was a massive dinosaur fan. If anyone is interested, I'll write my reasoning at the bottom. One last thing, about Dr Grant: there was a reason he's included on the character list. His part does not end at JPIII… That's all I'm going to say.**

 **On to the story!**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Four:** That Which Dwells In The Darkness

Eric was in trouble. Very, very big trouble.

It had started with the valley. He had stayed too late, caught up observing the behavior of a couple of ankylosaurs. While he still left with plenty of time until sundown, it was much closer than he preferred.

Then, it was the pachys. Pachycephalosaurus were some of the most dangerous herbivores on the island; they had their domed heads for a reason. They tended to ram said heads into anything that moved, including each other and small, stranded twelve year olds.

There also just so happened to have been several dozen of them blocking his path.

Eric had been forced to wait while they moved out of the way. He would have gone around, but one direction took him on a one-way scenic trip directly off the edge of a cliff while the other brought him into raptor territory. Instead of those interesting routes, he had decided to wait until the pachys moved on.

And by the time that began to happen, the sun was setting.

Which was why Eric slinking his way through the darkness, clutching his raptor claw and praying he'd make it back alive.

Contrary to popular belief, the fact that it was a jungle did not mean there was a plethora of trees perfect for climbing. Quite unfortunately, many of the trees were unsuited to escape carnivores. Some did not have branches within reach, others had branches that were too weak to support his weight, while still others were too short to avoid the jump of the predators. Eric was hoping he'd be able to find one to spend the night in soon, but he didn't think it was likely that he'd have the chance to even make it up a tree.

Because Eric was being hunted.

He could _feel_ their eyes on him, their hungry gazes boring into his skin. He didn't think it was the raptors; they didn't make sound while they hunted. These were calling back and forth, closing in surely and steadily.

And Eric had no idea what they were.

He clutched his claw tighter and stumbled to a stop.

He was surrounded.

Even if he couldn't hear them, he'd still be able to tell they were there. Eric could _see_ them. The animals' eyes were glowing in the darkness, like a cat. And slowly, these glowing eyes were inching their way towards him.

Eric racked his brain for _any_ dinosaur that this could be. There had to be _something_ that he knew about them, that he could use against them. Carnivores… Pack hunters…. Nocturnal….

Tapetum lucidum.

 _No._

Eric knew what these were. They were troodons. The same classified, highly dangerous, highly intelligent, _poisonous_ dinosaurs Eric had read about when he had found the Spinosaurus file. The same dinosaur that the _velociraptor_ went out of its way to avoid.

Pure, blind, primordial fear clutched Eric's heart. They were the predators. He was the prey.

And he had _no way_ of changing that fact.

Eric was beginning to distinguish some of the features of the troodons in the darkness. They weren't all that big; maybe three or four feet tall. Most of that height was taken up by their long legs. On the tip of their foot there was a sickle claw that was somewhat similar to the raptor's. Their jaws were filled with small, sharp teeth and large, bulbous eyes took up most of their heads.

Their eyes.

Eric had an idea. A somewhat stupid, Hail-Mary-play of an idea. The troodons were nocturnal hunters; they had adapted to accommodate this fact by developing massive eyes incredibly sensitive to dim light. It helped them to hunt under the dark canopy of the jungle.

It also meant they would be incredibly sensitive to _bright_ light. Perhaps sensitive enough to forget all about the easy meal they were in the process of capturing.

Or, at least Eric hoped they were.

He had a few flares in his bag; he had gotten the idea from Dr Grant's book. He had thought it may provide a distraction for another Rex if he ever ran into one. Now, however, it looked as if it would provide him with a different service.

Slowly, Eric began to creep his left hand into his bag. If he moved too quickly, the troodons would leap; he had to time this right. His palm passed over several of the objects, searching for the right shape.

The eyes got closer.

His hand passed over the fluttering pages of his notebook and the small glass vial of T-Rex pee he kept for emergencies. He grasped the plastic, cylindrical shape of the flare-

 _Oh God._

White hot pain lanced through his side. With a small, strangled shout, Eric raised his right hand, still gripping the raptor claw, and brought it down on the troodon's head. The makeshift dagger cleaved into its waxy eye, causing it to release its jaws from the clamp-like grip they had on Eric's side with a shrill scream. The dinosaur stumbled away, still shrieking unnaturally.

The sight provided no comfort to Eric. It was too late; the damage was already done.

He fell to the ground with a dull thud. Eric's hand numbly found his side, coming away slick with hot blood. He could _feel_ the poison begin to work its way into his bloodstream.

He knew what was going to happen next. The troodons would retreat and wait for the poison to wear him down to the point of no resistance. All of Eric's defenses would slowly be battered down by the neurotoxin, causing first hallucinations, then seizures, then paralysis, and finally brain death. That's when the troodons would come and drag him back to their nest, where he would be immediately eaten _if_ he was lucky. If he wasn't lucky, he would be used as a place for a troodon female to lay its eggs.

Eric wasn't going down without a fight.

He had spent every single _second_ on this island fighting. He hadn't had a moment of peace since he had crashed landed.

Not. One. Single. Moment.

And he wasn't about to give up now.

When the procompsognathus had bit him, the poison had felt strange. From the wound he had been able to feel small, ice-cold tendrils creeping up his arm, leaving his nerves numb in its wake. The troodon venom was different. It shot up his side blazing hot, leaving every single nerve ending screaming in pain.

Fumbling, he yanked the first aid kit out of his bag. There, in the same neat little row he had first found them in, were five small syringes labeled AVTP. He pulled one from the kit and began to feel along his arm. He could feel his adrenaline-fueled pulse pounding against his fingertips. Carefully, he inserted the syringe into the artery and pushed down on the plunger. His face twisted in pain as the new foreign substance entered his body, but he continued to administer the drug. Once he emptied the entirety of the medicament into his bloodstream, he pulled out the syringe and tossed it aside. Then, he yanked off his lab coat. It was too dark to treat the bite mark itself, and he didn't have time to anyway. He did, however, need to staunch the blood flow as much as possible. He pushed the fabric against the wound and bound it tightly to his side with duct tape.

Eric stumbled to his feet, his mind racing. The troodons were waiting for the poison to take effect, he knew that. They would wait until he reached the paralysis stage before attacking again. Only, that stage would never come for Eric (or so he hoped). The antivenom had taken care of that. And, sooner or later, the troodons would figure out their venom wasn't working. They would attack again, only this time they wouldn't retreat. They would drag him away then and there, taking him back to whatever hell hole they crawled out of. He had a very limited amount of time to escape.

He pulled a small test tube out of his bag. After the Spinosaurus Incident, Eric only kept a limited amount of T-Rex pee on him, just in case he ran into compys. While he doubted it would completely cover up the scent of blood, it would buy him time. He yanked the cork out of the vial and splashed the pee over his body. Eric didn't think that Spinosaurus were nocturnal hunters. And if they were, well, he'd take that predator over the troodons any day.

At that thought, an idea struck him. An insane, suicidal idea that would probably get him killed in horrible and creative ways.

The troodons were the predators. Eric was the prey. And there was nothing he could do to change that fact.

But the troodons weren't the only predators on this island.

He slung his bag back over his shoulder. With his raptor claw in one hand and a flare in the other, Eric set out into the jungle.

He was an idiot. Hopefully, when this was over, he wouldn't be a dead idiot.

* * *

Eric had named some of the dinosaurs. It had been impossible not to. He was so very _lonely_ on the island that he had to give them some kind of human characteristic.

That way he could pretend he wasn't completely and utterly alone.

The younger Rex was named Anubis. His parents were Nephthys and Set. It had seemed fitting to name the Tyrannosaurus after Egyptian gods closely associated with death, destruction, and chaos. The brachiosaur he had met in the trees was Diana, while her child was Echo. The Spinosaurus was called Sobek.

He had also named the velociraptors.

He hadn't gotten close enough to the raptors from the abandoned building to actually name them. The pack from the valley, meanwhile, was led by an alpha pair Eric had called Genghis and Ingrid. The velociraptors that patrolled the area where he and Ben had landed was led by a female named Rose.

And it was into Rose's territory that Eric was headed.

The velociraptors had avoided confrontation with the troodons. According to InGen's files, the raptors had steered clear of their territory altogether. There had only been one moment where they had ever had an altercation with their venomous counterparts.

When a rogue troodon had trespassed into raptor turf.

And now Eric was tricking an entire pack of troodons into doing the exact same thing.

Probably not a good idea. Unfortunately, it also happened to be his _only_ idea.

He was counting on both of the predators to be too concerned with one another to notice him slipping away. After all, the wounded kid wasn't a threat, while the two carnivores were pretty much the poster-dinos for "threatening." If his theory was correct, then they would be too preoccupied fighting each other to stop him. Of course, it was only a _theory._

And Eric wasn't even sure if he would live long enough to test that theory out.

The troodons had finally figured out something was wrong. The prey wasn't reacting the way it was supposed to; the poison wasn't working.

And now they were actively hunting Eric.

A troodon was near Eric. It was sniffing the air, puzzled at why it couldn't smell him. Eric wasn't sure how long that would last, though. The T-Rex pee wouldn't hold it off forever. He just had to hope it would move on before discovering him. Currently, he was hidden behind a copse of trees, his hands tightly wrapped over his mouth to keep himself from screaming. He cautiously glanced around the wood. The troodon was still there, making irritated growling sounds into the air. Eric quickly ducked back behind his feeble cover, pressing himself tightly against the trunk as he tried to quiet his shallow breaths. He was hyperaware of everything around him. He could feel the bark digging into his skin and see the trees rustling in the breeze and hear the same sounds of the island that had haunted him _every single night._ Only this time, he was out with the noises. He had never truly been as exposed to Sorna's nightlife as he was now. Even before he had found his truck, he still had a modicum of safety. He had spent those first few nights high in a tree, strapped in with his belt to keep from falling to the ground below. Never had he been on the forest floor, wounded and vulnerable.

Until now.

Slowly, he peeked around his cover again. The troodon was gone. He waited several long moments, searching for any sign of the animal, before cautiously leaving his hiding place. He needed to keep moving. Raptor territory was only about ten, fifteen minutes away if he took it at dead run. He had made harder runs for the Cross Country team at school.

Of course, back then he wasn't racing something that was trying to _eat_ him.

He could make it. He knew he could make i-

Something crashed into him full speed. Eric hit the ground with a thud, all the air knocked out of him. The flare and claw skittered out of his hands. He struggled to his hands and knees and tried to crawl away, only to be tackled yet again. He and his attacker rolled across the rocky forest floor, coming to a stop a few feet away. Eric looked up at his assailant.

It was the troodon. The same troodon that had been searching for him before. The same troodon whose eye he had gouged out.

It had set a trap. And Eric had walked right into it.

It crooned in victory, staring down at its prey. Eric was trapped beneath it, flat on his back, pinned down underneath the animal's weight. His hands scrambled uselessly at his sides, searching desperately for something to use as a weapon.

The troodon reared back its head, its jaws open, ready to rip out his throat.

Eric's hands closed around a branch.

The troodon's head fell, its teeth descending closer and closer to his exposed flesh…

Only to clamp around the branch Eric had raised at last moment as protection.

Frustrated, the animal yanked its head free. Eric didn't waste a moment. He reared back his makeshift bludgeoning tool and slammed it into the dinosaur's head. It stumbled off of him with a cry, wobbling as it walked. Eric struggled to his knees, raised the bat, and repeated the action. It jerked away, calling for its pack members' help.

Eric really, _really_ didn't want to see what would happen when help arrived. He scrambled over to the site where he was tackled. _They had to be here._ He needed the flare and claw; he wouldn't be able to get away without them. His hands passed uselessly through the dirt; he couldn't find anything in the darkness.

 _Where were they?_

Eric could hear the troodons coming closer and closer, the reinforcements apparently there.

 _Where were they? Where were they?_

He wouldn't be able to outrun the troodons, Eric knew that. They were too fast, and he was injured. He need the flare to make them shy away.

 _Where were they? Where were they? Where were they?_

The troodons were closing in.

 _Where were they? Where were they? Where were they? Where were they?_

He saw the flare. It was lying a few feet away, next to the raptor claw. He dove forward, grabbing the flare and ripping open the top.

Nothing happened.

Eric's heart stopped.

Then, the torch sparked to life, casting a red glow on the surrounding area as it sizzled in his hand. Eric spun around, thrusting it in the face of the nearest animal. It jerked back with a scream, its eyes suffering from the sudden glare. Eric grabbed the claw with his free hand and staggered to his feet. He waved the light in a wide arc around him, illuminating the carnivores surrounding him. There were four of them, all of which retreated with a cry. They stumbled off into the jungle letting loose calls for help.

Eric turned around and ran into the opposite direction. It wasn't over; they wouldn't let their prey slip away so easily. The troodons would be back, only this time they'd have much more support. He sprinted towards raptor territory, the flare still burning in his hand.

The hunt was on.

* * *

Eric had miscalculated. Horribly, horribly miscalculated.

And it seemed that that would cost him his life.

The raptors hadn't come. Eric had sprinted right through their territory, a pack of troodons snapping at his heels, and not a single one of them had come. He had been wrong. Maybe they didn't care if the troodons trespassed. Maybe they had only dared to move against the rogue because it had been alone. Maybe they had decided that it was too big of a risk to take on an entire troodon pack, and they should just let them catch their prey and leave rather than engage in an altercation. Maybe it didn't matter, because whatever the reason _they weren't coming._

He was still running, his lungs heaving and his legs weak and his sides aching, and he didn't think he could do it much longer. The troodons were right on his heels. The only reason why they had been kept at bay for so long was because of the flare. The flare that was currently sizzling and sparking and _dying_ right in Eric's hand. It wouldn't hold out for much longer. That flare was Eric's second; the first had already died.

Eric had only packed two.

With a last spark, the flare went out. He tossed the useless piece of plastic aside, not breaking his stride. He could keep going. He could ignore pain in his wound, throbbing with each beat of his frantic heart. He could ignore his aching lungs, ignore the fact that he felt that no matter how much air he took in, it felt like would never be enough. He could do the impossible, outrun the troodons. He _had_ to.

 _He wasn't ready to die yet._

His foot caught on a tree root.

And Eric fell.

The moment he hit the ground he knew he was dead. There was no last minute miracle, no trick he could pull from his sleeve to save his life. He spun onto his back to face his attackers. They were slowly closing in with a smug assurance. They knew they had caught him; this prey may have been tricker than the others, but it had lost all the same. Eric sat up and scooted backwards until his back hit a solid object. He looked up.

It was The Tree. The same tree that they had crashed the parasail into; the same tree that Ben had _died_ in. The sail was still there, dangling from the branches. Ben was probably still there, too.

It was almost poetic. He met his end the same place he had began; the same place where he _should_ have died all those weeks ago. He had cheated Death here once, but he wouldn't a second time.

As he watched the predators inch their way closer and closer to him, he realized something.

Whoever had said that your life flashed before your eyes was an idiot.

When you were dying, you didn't have time for anything like that. All you could really do was think _Please God, let me live_ and pray it'd be quick. There was no time for something as theatrical as watching your entire life as if you were watching a film.

Then, he realized something else.

He wanted his mom. He wanted his dad.

For all people talked about people dying alone, Eric didn't think it happened all that much. Usually there were doctors or family or _someone_ there when you breathed your last. Even criminals condemned to death had the warden or a priest there to witness it. There was always someone with them until the end came.

But Eric had no one.

 _It wasn't fair._ He was _twelve._ Things like this weren't supposed to happen to twelve year olds. He didn't want to die like this. He wanted his mom there, holding him and whispering sweet nothings about faith and God and a Heaven where he didn't have to be afraid anymore. He wanted his dad there, always so reassuring, an unmovable rock of calm.

 _He didn't want to die completely and utterly alone._

The troodons were almost to him now. He could smell them, the rotten, rancid scent that followed predators everywhere. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the tree as the first one reached his legs. It would all be over soon.

But then a strangled yelp had his eyes flying back open.

The lead troodon was on the ground, its temple speared by a massive sickle claw. Eric's eyes trailed up the muscled leg to reveal a large, female velociraptor with pale red marks streaking down her temples.

Rose had come.

Eric smiled. He couldn't help it. He hadn't named the velociraptor Rose just because of her coloring. Oh, no. She was without a doubt beautiful, just like a rose, but Heaven help anyone who crossed her.

Because this rose, well, she had very wicked thorns.

Rose yanked her clawed foot from the troodon's head and let out a shrill call. More velociraptors came pouring out of the brush to attack the trespassers. She had brought the entire pack.

The two packs began to fight, weaving and attacking with an absolutely terrifying speed and precision. Eric watched the sight, dumbstruck, for a moment before realizing that he had just received a stay of execution, and he should probably leave before one of the groups won and decided to take the wounded prey as their prize. He began to stumble out of the clearing, trying to avoid the warring animals.

Something grabbed onto his shoe, pulling his feet out from under him and dragging him to the ground.

Eric landed on his stomach. He glanced behind him, looking for the cause. A wounded troodon was there, angry and snarling and dragging itself closer and closer to where Eric had fallen.

One of its eyes had been cleaved out.

 _No._ It couldn't end like this; not when he was so close. Eric crawled away, struggling through the dirt to reach freedom. He came to a stop when a pair of well-muscled feet entered his line of vision, blocking his way.

Only one of its feet had a large, sickle claw.

Eric's heart dropped as his gaze traveled upwards to reveal the same velociraptor that had hunted him his first day on Sorna. Really, if there were two animals on this island likely to hold a grudge against him, it was these two. One had lost an eye, the other a claw. And while the claw really wasn't his fault, the fact that Eric was currently _holding_ said claw would probably contribute to any negative emotions it may be experiencing. He held his breath as the raptor's legs tensed, then pounced…

On the troodon behind him.

Eric watched in shock as the velociraptor took its opponent's head in its jaws and snapped its neck with an audible _crack._ Then, it glanced up at Eric.

For a long moment, it looked at Eric. Eric looked back. Then, the raptor turned around and entered the fray, its tail snapping from side to side.

Eric wasn't about to wait for another attack. He got to his feet and ran.

And he prayed he would get home alive.

* * *

It would be more accurate to say that Eric _fell_ into his water truck rather than walked into it. The moment he opened the steel door he suddenly became dizzy and pitched face first onto the floor. He lay there, dazed, for a moment before he struggled to sit up. While he had evaded the troodons, he wasn't out of the woods yet. Eric had yet to tend to the wound.

Quickly, he closed and locked the door before turning his lantern on. Eric fumbled to yank off the duct tape and pull off his shirt. Even in the dim lighting, the wound looked ugly. There was an arch of jagged, shallow gashes in his skin that were bleeding sluggishly. He hissed at the sight.

Eric propped himself up against the wall and started to work. He soaked a cloth in rubbing alcohol and hesitantly hovered the cloth above his wound. When he had been learning to ride a bike, he had fallen and skinned his knee. His mom had disinfected it with rubbing alcohol, and Eric, with all the dramatic flare a five year old possessed, had declared it to be torture. But that was only a scrape. How much worse would it be when he was cleaning the bite mark of an animal?

Eric grit his teeth in determination. It was either this or die from infection. Decisively, he lowered the cloth onto the wound.

The sheer pain that exploded from his side almost had him throwing away the rag. Eric let out a strangled scream from between his clenched teeth as he continued. Painstakingly, he cleaned away the blood and grime from the lacerations. Several times he had to stop to dig out a small, sharp tooth that had embedded itself in his side. Panting, he held up the lantern to better inspect his work. Without the gore, the injury didn't look as bad. Most of the gashes looked like they would heal as long as he kept them clean, but a few needed stitches where the teeth and torn deeper. Eric had taken first aid training for a Scout's badge, but he had only had to stitch up a practice dummy. He wasn't sure if he would be able to do it to himself.

The coarse thread tugged at his skin as he tried to sew up the cuts. The pain had him halting his efforts on several occasions, only to resume a few seconds later. He used his raptor claw to cut the thread, not having enough energy to search for a proper tool, before collapsing against the wall, gasping in pain. The stitches were messy but they would do the job. With the last of his energy, he bound his sides in bandages and shut off the lantern.

Overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion, Eric blacked out.

* * *

The first thing Eric noticed when he opened his eyes again was the sun.

He shouldn't be able to see the sun. He had locked the door tightly, he was sure of it. But despite his mind's protests at the impossibility of it all, there was the door, wide open, the bright sun streaming into his water truck.

Eric sat up, wincing. Based on the pain in his side, he definitely wouldn't be running around for a long while. He staggered to the opening, staring at it in puzzlement. He _knew_ he had closed it when he entered the truck. But who could have opened it? It's not like any of the dinosaurs had opposable thumbs.

"Hello Eric."

Eric spun around with a gasp. It was impossible. He was dead. "Ben," he whispered. "How-how are you-"

"Alive?" Ben finished. This was wrong. It was all wrong. Ben was looking at Eric in a way he never had before. The man had been fond of Eric, always gazing at him with a kind, playful expression. This Ben was staring at him with a dark, reproachful look that made Eric feel sick. "I'm not. I died, remember? You killed me."

Eric shook his head. "No. No. It was the velociraptors. The raptors killed you, not me."

"But it was your fault. You wanted to go parasailing. You took too long finding something to cut me down. I died, and it was all. Because. Of you."

Ben coughed, and blood came out of his mouth, streaming down his chin. He stumbled forward, falling to his knees, suddenly soaked in blood.

"Ben!" Eric cried, rushing forward. The door slammed shut with no warning, its sound echoing through the space and plunging the room in darkness. "Ben!" he shouted again, but to no avail. He was alone.

Suddenly, Ben's voice began to echo through the chamber. _"Eric, run! Ru-"_

He doubled over, his hands covering his ears in an attempt to block out the sound. The shouting stopped, only to be replaced by the hissing and screaming of troodons.

Eric looked up. He was surrounded by glowing eyes.

In front of him was a troodon with only one eye, its other nothing but a jagged, blood choked space.

It leapt for his throat.

Eric woke up with a scream.

* * *

In the time that it took for him to become mostly healed from his injury, Eric almost died.

His body was weak from over exhaustion. Most of the time, he could barely muster the strength to sit up. He suspected that he contracted a fever several times, and each time left him weaker than the time before. He could rarely venture out of his water truck. The few times he did were to fetch water and boil his bandages for reuse. The days blurred together. He had completely lost track of his time on the island.

Eric had to force himself to eat. The illness he constantly felt robbed him of any appetite he may have otherwise had. His weight dropped radically. When he first landed on the island he had already had a slender body type; now, he looked sickly thin. Keeping food down became a struggle. Sometimes, Eric found himself lunging for the door, trying to make it to the jungle before vomiting. Sometimes, he didn't make it. His truck began to reek of sickness, which only deteriorated the state of his health.

Sleep became a battle for him. His constant state of fatigue had him always half asleep, and Eric quickly found himself fighting to remain awake. While he knew he needed the sleep, the dream world had become torture for him. Every time he closed his eyes he was tormented by new nightmares, filled with predators hunting and people dying. To make things worse, his fear was compacted by the knowledge that he may never open his eyes again. Eric _knew_ that he was very, very close to dying. He knew that each day could be his last. And that scared him.

But, despite all odds, Eric ever so slowly got better.

The gashes in his sides scabbed over and began to knit themselves together. Eric took out his stitches and watched as scars slowly began to web themselves across his skin. He began to get stronger, able to stay active for longer and longer periods of time. He could keep down more of his meals, and he began to regain some of the weight that he lost. The night terrors never really stopped, but he was no longer afraid of dying in his sleep.

Eric recovered.

* * *

Eric checked his preparations for the tenth time that morning. He had been out several times since the Troodon Incident, but this would be the first time that he would go on the routine he had before the injury. Eric was going back to watch the valley, and he wanted everything to be perfect before he left.

He had managed to regain most of his previous strength. While he was still a bit too thin, and couldn't quite run for as long as he used to, he was improving. If he kept working at it, Eric estimated he'd be back in his old shape in a couple weeks.

As if nothing ever happened.

The bandage wrapped around his torso was the only visible reminder of what had occurred. He had found that the cuts were annoyingly slow at healing. Eric remembered reading that wounds healed slower in stressful situations, and was quite dismayed at discovering it was true. While a few of the gashes had faded into a pale pink scar, most of them were still knitting themselves together. Because of this he kept the bandage on, not wanting to risk an infection when he was so close to recovery.

And he was close to recovery. He had survived, yet again. There was no guarantee that he would survive the next time, though. Every time he left the safety of his water truck, he risked never returning. But Eric knew he would always leave. A life spent hidden in fear wouldn't be a life at all.

He sucked in a breath and stared in challenge at the door. He wouldn't delay this any longer. Eric pushed open the steel entrance and stepped out from the shelter. His side barely even twinged in protest any more.

Eric walked off into the jungle of Isla Sorna. He had a life to live, no matter how dangerous it may be.

* * *

 **In my defense, I did warn all of you that things get serious this chapter. I think this may be the darkest chapter I have ever written. Which is somewhat impressive, considering my stories tend to walk a fine line between humor and angst every single time. First, I feel I should defend my use of troodons. I was planning Eric to be seriously injured from the beginning. When we first see Eric after he is stranded in the movie, the worst injury he appears to have is a skinned knee. I always thought that was kind of unrealistic. Yes, he may have been able to survive, but I thought that he would have at least one close call. Honestly, he got more injured after the concerned adults showed up than in the entirety of his eight weeks completely alone. So, I wanted him to get hurt badly partly because I wanted to emphasize how dangerous his experiences had been, and partly because I am totally evil towards fictional characters. I needed to choose the right dinosaur to attack him, and the troodons seemed perfect. I didn't want to use the raptors because he does end up becoming Owen Grady, and I thought he would be even less inclined to take the raptor training job if they almost succeeded in eating him. If the dinosaur was too big, Eric wouldn't be able to survive, and if it was too small he wouldn't even be hurt that badly. Then, I read about the troodons and frankly, I couldn't understand why the Jurassic Park movie verse never used them to traumatize an audience. Just imagine this: there you are, strolling along the dark jungle of Isla Sorna, for some strange reason without a care in the world, when suddenly you hear the** _ **absolute creepiest animal noise you have ever heard in your life**_ **, and you're surrounded by** _ **glowing eyes.**_ **Traumatizing, right? It gets worse. In real life, paleontological discoveries indicate that the troodon was more intelligent than the velociraptor. In actuality, it was the most intelligent dinosaur around. I know that the Jurassic Park verse really jacked up the intelligence level of the velociraptor, and I'm going to keep them as the Einstein of the prehistoric world for this fic, but seriously, the troodons were scary smart. According to Jurassic Park wiki, the raptors wouldn't go near the troodons!** _ **The creepy venomous dinosaurs scared velociraptors.**_ **But, Eric could still survive the encounter. He had the antivenom (there really was an antivenom, according to the wiki. He totally could have used it) and the Tapetum lucidum (fancy science language for creepy glowing eyes that see in the dark) meant that they would be sensitive to bright light, so he could escape with flares. The teeth themselves were actually insanely small (like, a fifth of the size of a** _ **dime**_ **, small), so the physical wound wouldn't be as much of a problem. The biggest danger to him was infection, and he managed to combat that. So that was why this entire chapter happened.** icanhascamaro: **I hope you enjoyed the velociraptor moment. I couldn't really have Eric have some kind of bonding, cuddly moment with them considering they were incredibly dangerous apex predators, but the fact that they saved him from being eaten by troodons did leave a good impression. There was a lot more behind his decision to take a job training them than that, I promise you.**

 **Okay, I promised a reasoning behind Eric's knowledge of the Spinosaurus. Here it is: frankly, I couldn't figure out why Billy didn't realize it was a Spinosaurus. His guesses included Suchomimus and Baryonyx, both of which** _ **barely**_ **look like a Spinosaurus. And really, Spinosaurus are pretty easy to identify. They pop up all over the place if you google "big dinosaur" and I'm pretty sure it was one of Wash's toy dinos on Firefly. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why a paleontology major couldn't recognize a Spinosaurus when it literally tried to bite him in the ass. Then I realized, maybe it was** _ **because**_ **he was a paleontology major. From my research, paleontology seems to be a lot like detective work. You look at everything from where the fossil is found to what its bone structure is like in an attempt to figure out what it is. Billy, having had this drilled into his head by the University of Denver's finest, looked at where it was found (Sorna) and classified it based off of what was known to be found in that range (what was on InGen's list). And this hypothesis is supported by his response to Grant when the doctor revealed the true species. He said something along the lines of "I don't remember seeing that on InGen's list" instead of something studenty like asking for the professor's reasoning. Grant had past experience with InGen, he wouldn't put it past them to leave things out of the list and Eric, who, while being a dinosaur nut, had absolutely no training in paleontology, would call it like he saw it: a Spinosaurus aegyptiacus. So that was my reasoning, I hope it actually makes sense to someone other than me. I could be totally off, of course, but that was what all the facts indicated from my viewpoint.**

 **Okay, next chapter Eric finally gets to meet Dr Grant! JPIII starts, get excited. I'm going to try and cover the movie in two or three chapters, then have a few chapters of the aftermath of Eric's time of the island (him dealing with PTSD and the like), before we finally get to find out what made him decide to change his name, join the Navy, and become a velociraptor trainer for Jurassic World. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much for all the amazing follows, favorites and reviews! Shoutout to** Countdown, Guest, Guest, XJackiefrostX, iiii, Everything'sGonnaBeAlright, Guest, **and** Doctor Levine **for reviewing! You guys are awesome!**

 **Also, quick thing: We have officially entered Jurassic Park III territory, people! There will be a few** _ **minor**_ **changes, just to make a few actions a bit more logical. I'm also not going to cover everything that happens in the movie, just the main parts. There will be a few scenes that we don't see in the movie happening here. I'm going to show a lot more of Grant/Eric interactions before they meet up Eric's parents, to add a bit more depth and complexity to their personalities. You'll see what I mean soon enough. Also, for context, the beginning of the last chapter was around the four, four and a half week mark of Eric's time of the island, and this chapter starts a few days after the end of the last chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Five:** Not Alone

In his time on Isla Sorna, Eric had learned a many new skills. He had learned how to move silently through the foliage, and how to tell the signs of a predator's nest. He had learned which plants were poisonous, and which could help heal. He could tell which dinosaurs would flee at the slightest provocation, and which would stay and fight.

He had also learned the signs of a velociraptor hunting nearby.

It really had been the most necessary of all his new talents. The raptors were some of the most dangerous animals on the island, and were also unfortunately the hardest to spot. That didn't mean there weren't signs, however. The faint scent of blood on the breeze, the imprint of a claw in soft soil, the miniscule rustling of a branch: small, barely noticeable signs that had saved his life on more than one occasion.

And so, when Eric caught several of these signs more blatantly obvious than ever before, he found a place to hide.

Cursing his luck, he took shelter in a thick piece of the greenery. He had known it had been too good to be true. He had only been active for a few days, and in that time he had had relatively few attacks on his person, all of which were from minor, easily fooled predators. Now, the deadliest dinosaur on all of Sorna was hanging out on his front lawn.

Eric frowned. What were they even _doing_ near his water truck? This wasn't in their usual hunting range (Eric would have never, _ever_ made his home there if it was), and most of their prey would have never been able to evade them long enough to reach this point. It didn't make any sense.

Silently, he made his way closer to the pack hunters. They would hopefully be more focused on whatever they were hunting to notice a kid that was too curious for his own good. He peered over the tree in front of him, looking for whatever unfortunate animal they had cornered….

Eric gasped.

He quickly ducked back behind the tree, hoping the super predators hadn't noticed him. His heart pounding, he looked back over the cover. He hadn't been hallucinating.

The velociraptors had cornered a _person._

 _There was someone other than Eric on the island._

His pulse racing, he scrambled in his bag for the smoke grenades. He only had two left; Eric had had to use the rest to save himself from the island's carnivores on more than one occasion. If he used these now, he would lose any small advantage he may have over the predators in the future.

He didn't care.

Eric didn't care that he would most definitely be risking his life by meddling with raptors on the hunt. He didn't care that he had absolutely no idea who this guy was. The stranger could be a poacher or a smuggler or just a really, really unlucky tourist and it wouldn't matter to Eric, _because he finally wasn't alone anymore._

Hurriedly, Eric shoved his shirt over his face, and pulled the pin on the first smoke grenade. He threw it in a wide arc between the raptors and the newcomer. Not hesitating, he grabbed the second and repeated his actions. The suffocating cloud soon enveloped the area, choking both the predators and the almost prey.

The moment the velociraptors began to move away, he was running into the clearing. Eric snagged the man's arm in a death grip and began to drag him through the forest. Deftly dodging tree branches, he made his way to his water truck. While he was ill, he hadn't been able to do much intense labor. Most of the time, he just sat in his home, bored out of his mind. So, to better utilize the mandatory bed rest, he set about camouflaging his home. It hadn't been hard; he just wove leaves and branches together in the same manner he had made his leaf vest. It had taken a while, but it had been worth it. The animals tended to be curious about man-made things, with their unusual smells and materials, and the covering helped discourage any unwanted guests. Eric released the man's arm as ran to his home, peeling away the layer covering the door. He could hear the man coughing out behind him, "Wait. Wait!"

Eric didn't answer, yanking open the steel trap and turning around. Grabbing the stranger's arm again, he pulled him inside the shelter before jumping down himself. He poked his head back out the enclosure, glancing around for any signs of raptors. He didn't see any; not that that meant much. Quickly, he shut the metal door, sealing them in darkness. Moving easily, he flicked on the lantern with one hand and tossed his leaf covering to the side with his other. The light was dim; he'd have to replace that lantern.

"Thanks," the man coughed, drawing the boy's attention back to him. "Thanks a lot, Eric."

"You know who I am?" Eric asked, shocked. He hadn't been paying much attention to him, all his focus on taking care of the immediate dangers. Besides, the stranger hadn't seemed capable of conversation; he was still hacking his lungs up from the smoke. But this, well this captured all of Eric's scrutiny. The scratches on the wall identifying him were still shrouded in shadows; this man should have no way of knowing Eric's name.

"Your parents are here. They're looking for you."

Eric had to replay the sentence in his mind a thousand times before he was able to comprehend it. His parents were _here._ On _Isla Sorna._ And they were _looking for him._ Eric wasn't sure what to do. He had dreamt of this happening, of course. He had had a hundred daydreams of his parents, or the Navy, or InGen, or _somebody_ coming to rescue him. He had imagined rescue helicopters and flying off into the sunset, never to return. Then, one day, he stopped imagining. It hurt too badly to fantasize about being rescued when _nobody ever came._ He had tucked the dream away, pushed it into the dark part of his heart where he kept all the crushing sadness and pain, the part that was getting more and more crowded each day. Only now, someone was here. His _parents_ were here. They had come for him, together.

Wait…

"Together?" he asked, dumbfounded. His parents _never_ did anything together. The last time they had, a car had ended up _on fire._ And now, on Isla Sorna, the risk was higher than ever. Here, things tended to _eat_ you if you annoyed them.

The man nodded, pulling his bag off and tossing it to the side. "Together," he groaned.

Eric shook his head numbly. "That's not good. They don't do so well together." The lamp was almost out. Trying to distract himself from thoughts of his parents being hunted and attacked and _mauled,_ he grabbed another lantern to exchange out.

"Well, you'd be surprised at what people will do when they have to," the stranger said.

Eric froze his movements. Then, without taking his eyes off the lamp, he said very, very quietly, "No I wouldn't."

Eric reached up to grab the spent light, trying not to think about just what exactly he had done on this island because he _had to._ All it brought up was memories of blood and pain and pushing himself _harder and harder._ Flicking the switch, Eric glanced down at his mysterious guest.

Well he hadn't been expecting that.

"You're Alan Grant," he said. Alan Grant was in his water truck. _The_ Alan Grant, the man that Eric had idolized since he was six, was sitting in his water truck _._ His water truck that was on _Isla Sorna._ Which just so happened to be one of the "damned dinosaur islands" that Dr. Grant had condemned on several occasions, only referring to the animals there as "theme park monsters," and had sworn never to return to. Which begged the question: "What are you doing here?"

Dr. Grant gave a small, breathy laugh and said, "Your parents, uh, invited me along."

Eric wasn't buying it. Dr. Grant had made it _explicitly_ clear to absolutely everyone that asked that he had no intention of ever setting foot on a remote, dinosaur island for as long as he lived. And, while Eric _hated_ being written off as a lost cause, he could admit that it did stretch the imagination to consider that a twelve year old boy could last eight weeks here (though, he added bitterly, that wouldn't have been necessary if the authorities had sent a rescue within the first few _days_ of his stranding). While Dr. Grant had gone to amazing lengths to protect the Murphy children, Eric doubted his philanthropy would stretch to tagging along on an expedition to the island of his nightmares for someone who probably wasn't even alive anymore. Which meant…

"They kidnapped you?" Eric asked, alarmed. His parents had _kidnapped_ someone? That's… well that was pretty badass, but he doubted Dr. Grant would appreciate the sentiment. Eric had never, not once, thought his parents capable of abduction.

"Uh, no, they, uh," Dr. Grant scrambled, trying to cover up his misstep. "They asked me to come. Came to one of my lectures and asked me to help."

Eric didn't even grace that with a response. He just gave him the _look._ The why-must-all-adults-try-to-lie-to-kids-yet-fail-horribly-at-it _look._

It was somewhat similar to look six year old Eric had given the paleontologist when he had claimed he wasn't scared.

Dr. Grant seemed to realize that nothing he could say would convince Eric. "They didn't kidnap me _per se._ They told me they were hiring me for a fly-over, adventure tour type thing. I agreed to come along. It was only when I found out they were going to land that I was hit over the head."

"My parents _hit you over the head?"_

"No. One of the mercenaries your parents hired hit me over the head."

"My parents hired _mercenaries?"_ Eric was having trouble wrapping his head around it. His parents, nice, law-abiding Paul and Amanda Kirby, had hired mercenaries, gotten a plane, and trespassed on a highly restricted island, but not before kidnapping one of the most prolific scientists of the twenty-first century and dragging him along.

That was actually really, really badass.

But there was still something Eric wanted to know.

"Why?" he demanded, looking Dr. Grant in the eye.

"They thought the mercenaries would be able to protect them from the animals while they looked for you-"

"No, _why did they come?"_ Eric asked. Dr. Grant looked at him, puzzled. "Why did they do all that? I mean, it's been so long. No one… No one came. I thought… I thought everyone thought I was…"

"Dead," the professor finished, watching Eric intently. Slowly, the boy nodded. "Well, from what I've gathered, everyone did think you were dead. Everyone except your parents. And since you disappeared, all they have been doing is trying to get to you."

His parents had come for him. They had _believed_ in him. Eric smiled, looking down.

"What?" Dr. Grant asked, noticing the look on the boy's face.

"Nothing. It's nothing," Eric insisted.

"No, really, what is it?"

"It's just that… Well, my parents thought I was alive when no one else did. And then they hired mercenaries, defied the Costa Rican government, and abducted the most famous paleontologist on the planet. All for me," Eric said, fighting back a grin. "That's really, really cool."

The professor stared at him for a long moment, before slowly shaking his head and starting to laugh. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

* * *

The water truck was rather small. Dr. Grant wasn't even able to stand up without hitting his head. Since Eric was still growing, he was able to walk in the small space if he slouched.

Which was why the paleontologist was currently seated leaning against the wall, watching as Eric paced back and forth.

Eric, meanwhile, was frustrated. He _hated_ doing nothing. And yet, here he was, stuck in a water truck, while his parents where only God knows where, possibly in the process of getting consumed.

The problem was the raptors. While the smoke had disoriented them, Eric knew better than to assume they would have left right away. They would have stayed longer, searching for their lost prey. Eric had planted several of the smelliest plants he could find all around his water truck; they wouldn't be able to track Dr. Grant by scent alone. That hadn't stopped the raptors from _looking,_ however. In fact, the two refugees had spent several terror filled minutes silently listening to the noises of predators hunting. Eventually, they had moved on, only for Eric to be confronted with a new problem.

It was night.

When he had found Dr. Grant, the sun had already been setting. He had, after all, been in the process of returning to his water truck, his day's dino-watching done. And by the time the velociraptors had finally given up, darkness had claimed the island.

Which meant Eric's parents were out on Sorna with no shelter _at night._

Eric was still terrified of the island's nightlife. How could he not be? He was _still_ recovering from his last encounter with Sorna's nocturnal hunters. But, he had discovered that there was something that he feared more than the troodons.

Eric was scared of losing his parents yet again.

And that, really, made up his mind for him.

Eric stopped pacing and turned on his heel, moving towards his bag. Bending down, he began to move the first aid kit and every single flare he possessed into the sack. Dr. Grant followed his progress, an unspoken question in his eyes. Eric cleared his throat. "Do you know where my parents went after you got separated from them?"

Realization lighted in the professor's eyes. "Eric, you can't go out there. It's too dangerous."

Eric ignored his protests as he slung on his leaf covering. "I know this island. My parents don't. I can go out, find them, and bring them back here for the night. It'd take me a few hours, tops. I'd be back before you know it. And while I assume they were somewhat near where I found you, it would go a lot faster if you gave me a location to start with."

Eric turned towards the door, only for Dr. Grant to move in his way. "Eric, running through the forest with a flare to light your way is a recipe for disaster."

"The flare isn't to light the way, believe me."

This threw the doctor for a moment, but he wasn't deterred. "I'm not about to let you run around out there alone."

Eric stopped and stared at the paleontologist. "You're not coming." He wasn't coming. Eric wouldn't _let_ him come. Eric had been learning how to survive on this island for he didn't even know how long, and Eric _still_ thought his own plan was insane. Dr. Grant, despite his impressive actions during the Jurassic Park fiasco, had no idea how to handle this island; he had never even been to Sorna. Besides, Eric would be able to move quicker and quieter alone. Unfortunately, they both knew Dr. Grant wasn't about to let Eric leave by himself (or at all, if he could help it).

"You're not going alone. It's too dangerous at night; you shouldn't be going at all." Eric paused, and Grant pushed his advantage. "Your parents wouldn't want you to get hurt looking for them, and until we find them again it's my job to keep you safe. Now, my grad student Billy is with them. He's smart and resourceful; he can keep your parents out of trouble. They're probably all shacked up in a tree somewhere, and if we try to move them now we'd only endanger everybody. We can go find them in the morning; it's safer that way."

Eric considered for a long moment, then deflated. "Fine," he sighed running his hands through his hair. Dr. Grant had a point and, admittedly, he hadn't wanted to give the troodons another opportunity anyway. "Do you want something to eat? I have plenty of provisions." The professor glanced at him, wondering if he had truly dropped it (he had… for now), before nodding.

A few minutes later, Dr. Grant was scraping mush from the bottom of an aluminum can. Eric had eaten sparsely, not wanting to lose any more weight but too nervous to be able to stomach much. Awkwardly, he shifted in his seat as he chewed on his chocolate bar silently. What could he even say? This man had been Eric's idol since he had handed him a toy velociraptor all those years ago. Eric was suddenly acutely aware of the fact he was covered in dirt and grime. His hair was thick with his own sweat and he hadn't visited to the creek to bathe in several days, resulting in an unfortunate smell. While the lab coat was pretty much as new as they came on Sorna (which is to say, not at all), his shorts were tattered and his shirt still torn and bloodstained where the troodon had bitten him. All in all, it was not the condition he wanted to be in when he met Dr. Alan Grant. Then again, the professor probably couldn't care less about all that stuff, considering where they were.

Nervously, he spoke. "I read both of your books. I liked the first one more. Before you were on the island. You liked dinosaurs back then."

"Back then they hadn't tried to eat me yet."

Eric wasn't surprised by the answer; he had suspected as much. Still, it made him wonder. In his time on Sorna, the resident dinosaurs had tried to eat him on several occasions, some with more success than others. Yet, he still liked the prehistoric animals. Who did that say more about: him, or Dr. Grant?

"When InGen cleared out they left a lot of stuff behind," Eric continued.

"Any weapons?"

Eric shook his head. "No. And I just used the last of the gas grenades."

"And I appreciate that," Dr. Grant responded, still coughing from the smoke. Curious, he lifted a beaker filled with cloudy liquid.

"Careful with that," Eric admonished. "Tyrannosaurus scares some of the smaller ones away but it attracts a very angry Spinosaurus."

Dr. Grant paused, staring at the container before looking at Eric. "This is T-Rex pee?" At Eric's nod, he wondered, "How'd you get it?"

Eric thought back to the Day That Shall Never Be Spoken Of. He may be a fan of Dr. Grant, but that didn't mean he was about to share the most humiliating and disgusting moment of his life with him. So instead, he merely shook his head and stated ominously, "You don't want to know."

Luckily, Dr. Grant seemed to agree with him on that score. He careful sat back down the vial, and Eric tossed him a candy bar. "Dessert?" The chocolate was on very strict rations: only to be used on the absolute worst or best days he had. And as the day that Eric finally found another human being, this definitely qualified for candy. He glanced down at his own almost disappeared bar, and decided that he still had enough pride to refrain from licking the wrapper clean.

"Eric, I have to tell you I am astonished that you lasted eight weeks on this island," Dr. Grant said, leaning forward.

"Is that's all it's been?" Eric asked, stunned. It had felt longer, _so_ much longer. It had felt like he had been trapped here for months, years. Sometimes, on the very worst days, it felt like he had been there for eternity. All his memories seemed like nothing more than a trick of the imagination. All there was and all there would ever be was Sorna, an eternal Purgatory _(Hell)_ that he couldn't escape.

"Well, you're alive and that's the important thing," he reassured. "And thanks to you that's one thing we have in common." There was a pause, then, "Did you read Malcolm's book?"

"Yeah."

The professor shrugged. "So?"

"I don't know, I mean, it was kind of preachy. And too much chaos, everything's chaos." Eric crinkled his face in distaste. While he was well aware that Dr. Malcolm specialized in Chaos Theory, that was no excuse for mentioning it quite literally every other sentence. At some point, a line had to be drawn. "It seemed like the guy was kinda high on himself."

Dr. Grant smiled at him. "Well, that's two things that we have in common."

* * *

Alan Grant had found himself impressed by the Kirby boy. It was hard not to be, all things considered. _Anybody_ who managed to survive on Isla Sorna for two months was astonishing, and the fact that Eric was only twelve made it even more so. There had been a reason, after all, that he had told the Kirby's that their son was most likely dead. It had been a struggle to keep Tim, Lex, and himself alive on an island that had only just lost control; Isla Sorna had been wild for years. The predators had had ample time to establish territories and increase their hunting capabilities. A human child shouldn't have stood a chance of surviving.

And yet, somehow, Eric had.

Alan wasn't stupid; he knew that Eric hadn't escaped this ordeal unscathed. He still had yet to figure out how seriously this island had damaged the boy, however. Eric didn't have any major wounds that he could see, not that that meant much. Alan was more worried about him psychologically. At night, he had seen the looks Eric had given the walls of the enclosure, as if it was about to cave in, leaving them vulnerable to the island. He had seen the way the boy's hands would shake at some of the noises that drifted in from between the cracks of the door. Alan still hadn't even gained the courage to ask about the circumstances of Ben Hildebrand's death yet.

Yet despite it all, Eric still appeared to be a smart, resourceful, all-around good kid that had retained a positive disposition. He seemed to have his a good head on his shoulders. In fact, the only disagreement they had had was when Eric wanted to go out after dark for his parents, but Alan could understand that. No matter how resourceful he was, Eric was still only twelve. It was normal for him to want to go out and find his parents. In the end, he had decided it was safer for everyone to wait until daybreak.

Or so Alan had thought.

Because when he woke up the next morning alone, he realized that Eric may have just been waiting for him to fall asleep before leaving to find his family.

Swearing, Alan clambered out of the truck and went into the jungle. He hoped the boy was all right. While he may have never wanted kids himself, Alan Grant was not the kind of man to abandon a kid in need. When he had met Eric, he had promised himself he would do everything in his power to get him out of this alive.

Of course, this task had just been made infinitely more difficult by Eric wandering off alone.

The paleontologist walked for several more minutes before a strange twittering sound caught his attention. As a dinosaur hopped into his view, cocking its head in curiousity, Alan froze. While he may not have seen it on Jurassic Park's failed tour, he still recognized it from his many dig sites.

A dilophosaurus.

The animal that apparently spat poison at its prey, according to InGen.

Slowly, Alan glanced down before shooting his eyes back to the predator. There was a branch in front of him. If he could reach that, he could use it as a weapon. If he managed to dodge the poison first, that is.

The dilophosaurus reared back on its hind legs, letting loose an unearthly rattle as its frill extended. Alan tensed, about to leap forward and seize the branch….

Only to stop, dumbfounded, as a rock collided with the side of its head with a wet crack.

Alan could only watch as the dilophosaurus staggered and stumbled away, swaying dangerously. He was stupefied once more as a another rock flew over his head, crashing into a second hunter. The dinosaur fell from the tree it was perched in with a screech, fleeing after its comrade.

"Are you alright, Dr. Grant?"

The paleontologist turned around, unsurprised to see Eric standing there. The boy seemed to have a knack for showing up at just the right moment. He was still loosely holding a third rock in his hand, warily looking in the direction the two carnivores had fled.

"Alan," he corrected automatically. The night before had seen the beginning of the epic struggle to get Eric to call him something other than Dr. Grant. As far as he was concerned, saving him from raptors was more than enough reason to call him Alan. Eric, however, seemed to flounder at the concept. "Thanks a lot, Eric. Again."

The boy shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "Dilophosaurus have a weakness in their skulls," Eric explained, gesturing at the side of his head. "They're also cowards. They run the second you show you can bite back." Suddenly worried, he shot a nervous glance towards the jungle. "Unfortunately, they also hold a grudge. We should go before they come back with the rest of the pack."

Alan followed the leaf-clad boy back towards the water truck, overcome by a sense of deja vu. "That was a nice shot. Were you the pitcher for your baseball team back home or something?"

Eric glanced back towards the scientist before returning to his watch on the forest. "Shortstop, actually. But I subbed for the pitcher whenever he was sick."

"You like sports?"

"I love sports. I play them every chance I get. Or at least, I did." They reached the truck, and Eric opened the steel door silently. Both of them clambered into the small space, the door closing behind them with a clang.

"You will again," Alan reassured, looking at the forlorn child.

Eric glanced up at him. "You really think we're going to get off of here, don't you?"

"If there's a way, we'll find it."

Eric nodded, unconvinced. "I owe you an apology for earlier. I should have left a note before I left this morning. I thought I would be back before you woke up."

"Where did you go? I thought you had gone out to find your parents, but, well, the fact that you are alone suggests otherwise."

"I went out to get a couple supplies before we left today. You're still bleeding," Eric said, drawing a finger over his own eyebrow to indicate the spot, "and that attracts some of the carnivores. It's probably why the dilophosaurus attacked you earlier. I just ran to get something to help cover up the smell."

Alan really, really hoped it was not urine of any kind. "So, what did you get?"

In explanation, Eric pulled out two bundles from his bag. He unwrapped them, only to reveal a bunch of leaves and berries. "They grow on a bush about five, ten minutes from here. The leaves help fight infection and the berries are just something to eat other than the rations. Mush gets old really quickly."

Alan popped one of the berries into his mouth and watched as Eric put the leaves in a pot and begin to grind them with an old spoon. Curious, he asked, "Where'd you learn all this?"

Eric shrugged. "Little bit of Scouts. Little bit of the notes InGen left behind."

A few minutes later, he presented the paleontologist with a greenish paste that had a sour scent. "Just rub it on your cuts. It makes it a lot harder for anything to track blood."

Alan obeyed, grimacing at the sting of the unfamiliar substance. Eric was watching him with a conflicted look. Seemingly coming to a decision, he gestured to the pot. "Could you pass it over? There's a cut I need to take care of before we leave."

Shooting the doctor one last trepidatious glance Eric rolled up the bottom of his shirt to reveal a long bandage wrapped around his torso. The boy unraveled it, uncovering a horrible, jagged bite mark. Slowly, the boy started to glop some of the greenish paste onto the wound. Alan's heart dropped into his stomach. He had been afraid something like this had happened. And there it was, the final proof. "What happened?" he hoarsely asked.

"A dinosaur bit me."

"Which dinosaur, Eric?" Alan said firmly. It was one thing to leave for supplies without telling him. Eric had lived here for eight weeks alone, he wasn't used to having to inform someone else of his comings and goings. He couldn't let Eric evade this question, however. Some dinosaur bites were more dangerous than others, and he needed to know in case there were any long term side effects he needed to be worried about.

Eric wouldn't meet his eyes. Instead, he focused on rebinding the cut with a new bandage. "A troodon."

Alan knew about troodons. He had almost made them the focus of his research, instead of velociraptors. The highly intelligent, highly _dangerous_ animals had fascinated him, just not as much as raptors. The night before, Eric had showed him the files of the dinosaurs InGen had not revealed to the public. He had been stunned to find out they had made the troodons. He had been even more stunned to find out just how dangerous they truly were. "How did you escape?"

Eric cleared his throat nervously. "I, uh, used a flare."

Somehow, he didn't think it was that easy. "And then you ran back here?" he prompted.

Eric winced. "Not exactly."

Alan gave him a look.

Eric looked back at him warily. "Are you going to yell at me? Because I'm not sure it's the best idea to tell you if it just makes you upset."

"Why would I yell at you?" Alan asked, bewildered.

The boy rolled his eyes. "Because when adults think a kid has taken unnecessary risks, they get upset even though the danger is over and they yell. A lot. And the risks I took were totally necessary, thereby making yelling superfluous."

This conversation was certainly going in a foreboding direction. Slowly, Alan said, "I promise I won't yell at you, Eric."

"I ran into Rose's territory. She took care of the troodons."

"And Rose is?"

Eric winced again. "A velociraptor."

"A velociraptor," Alan repeated. "You lead a pack of troodons into _velociraptor_ territory. While bleeding." At Eric's nod, he asked, "Why?"

"I figured if they were too busy trying to kill each other, they wouldn't notice me running in the opposite direction. It worked," he added unnecessarily.

Alan was silent, mulling over this new information. He wasn't sure if he would call it genius, or stupidity. While it certainly had a massive potential to backfire, it had undoubtedly saved Eric's life. "Smart," he decided. He was, however, worried about how this boded for Eric's mental state. Grant knew exactly how badly something like this could affect someone. After all, he had experienced it himself.

They sat in silence for several minutes before Eric spoke up once more. "Dr. Grant… Could you not tell my parents about this?"

Before he could reply, Eric rushed on, stumbling over his words. "I mean, I'm almost healed anyway. It's not really all that important. It would only worry them, and right now we need to focus on escaping. And, I mean, well, they'd get upset, and Mom would probably cry, and maybe Dad too, and…" Eric stopped, looking at the paleontologist _so desperately._ "And so can you please, _please_ not tell them?"

Alan opened his mouth. He wasn't sure what he was planning to say originally, but what came out instead was, "Eric, are you… okay?"

Eric looked at him in surprise. "Of course. It barely even hurts anymore. The bandage is really just a precaution."

Alan shook his head in frustration. "No, I mean, are you… _okay?"_ He didn't know how to ask what he needed to ask. All the questions he needed answers to. _Are you alright? How badly did being here alone hurt you? I heard you wake up last night with nightmares, but you wouldn't talk to me. How long have you had them? When was the last time you slept peacefully?_

Eric seemed to get his meaning. "I don't know," he said quietly. "Maybe if we get off this island I could find out."

For a long moment, they were silent. "I won't tell your parents you were attacked," he decided, watching Eric intently. "But I think you should."

Slowly, Eric nodded. "Thank you Dr. Grant." Then, he he cleared his throat, trying to move past the heavy atmosphere. "So… Leaving… We should probably split up the supplies and get moving."

Alan snapped out of his reverie. "Right."

Eric moved to the other end of the truck and took out the flask of Rex pee. Carefully, he used an eyedropper to move some of the liquid into two small test tubes. He handed one of the containers to Grant and moved the other to his bag. "If you uncork that near compys, they'll usually just run in the opposite direction. If they do manage to bite you, use your belt as a tourniquet and suck the poison out with your mouth. But be careful about when you use it. The Spinosaurus is in the middle of some kind of territory war with the Rex, and shows up to kill anything that smells like a Tyrannosaur."

Grant winced at the reminder. "Yeah, I've already had the misfortune of meeting the Spinosaurus. And that territory war may be over. It killed the Rex in their last fight."

Eric looked at him in shock. "The Spinosaurus never wins the fights. Wait, was the Rex relatively small? With a long scar across the bridge of his nose?"

Alan tried to think back to the encounter. He had been more focused on the teeth to notice a scar. Now that he thought about it, however, it did seem smaller than the Rex he had seen in Jurassic Park. "I think so."

"Well, that's not good," Eric muttered. "That was Anubis," Eric explained. "The youngest Rex. His parents, Nephthys and Set, are going to be ticked off. As far as I can tell, Rexes are always pretty protective of their kids, no matter how big they get. Neph is probably going to come after Sobek with the all the fury of Hell. So, I repeat, be careful about attracting Sobek. Because Nephthys probably won't be that far behind."

"Right," Alan nodded, deciding not to comment about the names. Eric moved onto the med kit, dividing it between the two of them. Then, he reached a neat row of four small syringes. He carefully wrapped two of them before handing them to Alan. "These are the antivenom for troodon bites," he softly explained. "If you are bitten, inject yourself and try to find something bigger than the troodons to annoy. They may be able to take care of your problem."

Eric tossed him a few flares with a rueful smile. "You already know how to work one of these."

Then, he handed Dr. Grant three small vials of clear liquid and a syringe. "That's morphine," he explained. "There are only six. I haven't used any of them. This seemed to be the worst place to develop an addiction," he added with a sardonic grin. Suddenly somber again, he continued. "Three is enough for an overdose."

Grant looked up from the offending vials, giving Eric a questioning look.

"Most dinosaurs here kill you outright. Usually, you'll be dead a few minutes after the attack, if even that." Eric met his eyes, urgent. "Troodons don't do that. They want you alive. They want to lay their eggs in a warm body. If they catch you…. It's a lot better to already be dead."

Grant's hands tightened around the vials. "It won't come to that."

"Just in case."

Alan shook his head but packed the drug anyway. Lastly, Eric gave Dr. Grant the binoculars. He probably wouldn't need it. Splitting up the supplies was just a precaution in case they were separated.

"Ready?" he asked, standing up next to the door. At Dr. Grant's nod, he gave a small, nervous smile. "Don't worry. It will be just like going for walk. Sixty-five million years ago."

And then he opened the door.

* * *

 **Done! That took me longer than usual. For some reason, I just have not felt like writing lately. So, this had some of the scenes of the movie with a bunch of other stuff thrown in. Technically, almost everything I added was outside of the scenes from the movie and could have actually happened. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why they left the door open when raptors were chasing them, so I had them close it. That dilophosaurus scene was a shoutout to my first viewing of Jurassic Park. I was like, seven and talked my mom into letting me watch it (I was a persuasive little brat) and the scene where Nedry is eaten by the dilophosaurus scared me half to death. The dilophosaurus was the scariest dinosaur to me when I was little, and I wanted to commemorate it in here.**

 **Baby Rex from The Lost World is back. Now, he's more angsty teen Rex. Technically, he's very much dead Rex. Mama Rex is gonna be mad. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and I'm pretty sure that counts doubly so for giant angry dinosaur women who just lost their baby. So, that was my reasoning behind that disappointing fight scene in the third movie. I'm thinking about including a scene where the two parent Rexes track down the Spinosaurus and kick his scaly butt. Tell me if y'all want that!**

 **So, as you can see, Dr. Grant knows about Eric's close encounter but he doesn't want to tell his parents. I feel that I should elucidate that. Eric is scared about how his parents will react to everything he went through. Dr. Grant, for all intents and purposes, is a total stranger (a five minute talk when he was six does not count as knowing him). He can't look back at how Eric was before the island to make an opinion on him. His parents, however, have known him his entire life. He wants things to go back to normal after he escapes, and he's scared that if his parents know everything he went through they would treat him differently. He's also scared about upsetting his parents, so he tries to hide it. The only reason why Grant knows is because Eric still needs to treat it to fight off infection, and Alan just so happened to be in the room.**

 **Also, I know it kind of seems like Eric is taking charge of this expedition rather than Dr. Grant. I can explain that. Right now, Eric knows more about surviving on the island. While Grant behaved admirably on Nublar, that was a whole different can of worms. On Nublar, dinos had just started escaping. Most of them didn't even leave their enclosures while he was in the Park, not to mention the fact that they still had power (just had to turn it on), semi-safe buildings, other people to help stabilize his mental state, and the hope of escape. Eric has literally only a crashed water truck (which he may love but is really super depressing if you actually think about it), an old lab that seriously creeps him out and is a frequent hangout for velociraptors, and a bunch of dinosaurs that may or may not kill him but he named them anyway because it's just that bad. In order to survive, Eric had to learn a whole bunch of stuff that a twelve year old should never have to learn, and has probably scarred him for life. It makes Eric feel safer and more in control if he shares some of that knowledge with Grant, and the good doctor is letting him share the little tidbits partly because he really does want to help Eric recover, and partly because the information is actually super handy and could save both of their lives. Grant is still the responsible adult in charge (because the Kirby's, bless their little souls, while probably winning the Best Parents For Eternity Award for going to these lengths for their son, are not leader material, as I require the ability to tell what deadly dinosaur island you are on as part of the job description. Udesky is dead by this point and while I honest to goodness love Billy for saving Eric from Pterodactyls in probably the most badass manner possible, he disqualified himself from the leader position the moment he took raptor eggs on a whim. Honestly, if Grant wasn't there, I'd say screw it all and make Eric the leader), he's just not going to discount Eric's advice just because he is a kid.**

 **Sneak peek for next chapter: We get to take a look at why Dr. Grant hates dinosaurs (there is a deeper reason than they tried to eat him, believe it or not), Eric starts pushing him back towards liking dinosaurs, and a whole bunch of other stuff happens! Stay tuned!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much to the absolutely terrific people who followed, favorited and reviewed! Thanks to** Everything'sGonnaBeAlright, icanhascamaro, Countdown, iiii, Guest, **and** Guest **for the absolutely fantastic reviews! Seriously, they made my day you amazing people.**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Six:** The Therapeutic Effects of Petting Triceratops

Udesky was dead.

Alan could see his body. After leaving the water truck, he and Eric had backtracked towards where they thought the others had gone. As a group, there was a greater chance of survival and frankly, Alan had been just as worried about Billy as Eric was for his parents. When he had ended up on Sorna, Alan had promised himself he would get his grad student off alive. It was on his invitation that Billy had come along, and it was his responsibility to make sure he was safe. So, when Eric had wanted to see if they could find his parents before moving towards the coast, Alan had agreed.

But all they had found was a dead body.

It had been easy enough to track the party to a large clearing. The raptors had torn through the woods widely, carving a path of broken branches and trampled grass in the process. The two castaways had cautiously followed the path, quickly taking cover behind a copse of trees when they spotted the corpse.

"Wait here," Eric whispered. He started to get up from his crouch, before Dr. Grant grabbed his arm.

"What are you doing?" Alan hissed.

"I'm just going to scout around the edges and see if there are any raptors still around."

"That's too dangerous. You wait here, I'll check it out."

"Dr. Grant, I have spent the past eight weeks learning how to move unnoticed, I have a leaf vest to camouflage myself, and I actually know how to tell if a raptor is in the area. I am going."

"I have spent my entire professional career studying velociraptors, Eric."

To his surprise, Eric nodded and said, "You're right. The person with the most experience should go. And you have been studying dinosaurs for longer than I've been alive."

Suspicious, Alan slowly nodded. "Right."

"Great, we're in agreement. I'm going." Quickly, Eric tried to stand up, only to be grabbed once more by Grant.

"We didn't agree on that!" he whispered harshly.

Eric looked at him innocently. "Sure we did. You've spent your entire life studying dinosaurs. I've spent the past eight weeks observing the genetically engineered theme park monsters." Then, he was gone, darting silently through the foliage.

"Eric!" Grant quietly hissed after him, but it was too late. He sighed in defeat and slumped against the tree.

He liked Eric, he really did.

But he was starting to remember why he had never wanted kids.

* * *

Eric was moving quickly and quietly through the trees. He felt bad for tricking Dr. Grant, but he didn't regret it. Every pack on this island hunted differently, so there were different signs for each pack. Eric knew them. Dr. Grant didn't (yet. If they didn't escape, he'd definitely have to learn. Mentally, Eric began making plans for another leaf vest in Dr. Grant's size). Right now, it made more sense if Eric was the one that checked if a raptor was nearby.

And if he was being honest, he didn't want the paleontologist to take any risks. If Dr. Grant died, Eric would be alone.

And he _refused_ to live like that again.

Before he found Dr. Grant, Eric had managed. He had written in a stupid journal and named the animals and sometimes even talked to himself, all to pretend that the loneliness wasn't tearing a hole in his heart. He said goodnight to his mom and dad _every single night_ and imagined that they were saying goodnight back, because it wasn't like the velociraptors were going to tuck him. He drowned out the fact that he had _no one_ for eight weeks by observing the dinosaurs and keeping himself much too busy to think about it, even if it didn't really work.

And then he had spent one night talking to Dr. Grant.

Eric had forgotten how nice it was to be around someone else. How great it was to talk to someone and have them actually _respond._ And he didn't want to go back to how he was before. He didn't want to be the Eric that was scared he would forget his own name or spoke to the sky just to make sure he still remembered how.

He told himself it was stupid how dependent his emotional state had become on the doctor's presence. He had known this man for less than twenty four hours, it wasn't normal to be having panic attacks at the mere _thought_ of his death. He shouldn't be spending every waking moment building plans in his mind about how to keep the paleontologist alive _just a little bit longer_ (because on this island, everyone died sooner rather than later, and Eric was _tired_ of being the last person still surviving) _._

Yet Eric was.

That morning, he had made himself go out and get more of the leaves partly because he really did need to get more, but mostly because he wanted to see if he could still function away from Dr. Grant. While he had managed to get what he needed, the thought of _what if he wakes up early and leaves and dies and and and_ had driven him to return much sooner than he had expected.

Walking back, he was so much more paranoid than he had ever been before. When he heard the tell-tale rattle of a dilophosaurus on the hunt, he had tried to convince himself that it couldn't be Dr. Grant, probably just some unfortunate herbivore, but hadn't been able to go on without seeing it himself. So he creeped through the thick foliage and told himself he was acting the fool, only to watch as his greatest fear played out before his eyes.

The moment the dilophosaurus reared back its head, about to spit poison and take away _everything_ from Eric (because, really, the half-life he had been living on Sorna before wasn't worth _anything),_ he hadn't hesitated. He had grabbed the nearest rock and cracked it as hard as he could into the weak point in its skull that he vaguely remembered reading about years ago, then repeated the action with its hidden pack mate. When Dr. Grant turned around, not even bruised, Eric hadn't been sure whether to laugh or cry. Instead, he rambled off something about the hunting habits of the dilophosaurus, then turned around and started to walk home before Dr. Grant could notice how badly his hands were shaking.

That incident had taught Eric a very important lesson: he couldn't survive alone anymore. He couldn't _handle_ being trapped here by himself again. So when they needed to check for nearby velociraptors, Eric made sure he went instead of Dr. Grant.

The precaution was pointless. The velociraptors were long gone. Cautiously, Eric exited the tree line and approached the body. He bent down next to the figure and called over to Dr. Grant, "All clear."

The paleontologist approached, saying something along the lines of, "Don't do that again," but Eric wasn't listening. He was too busy staring at the body. It was definitely the work of raptors. The man's head had been snapped to the side and was resting at an unnatural angle. The back of his shirt was bloody and his face was still twisted in pain.

Another person dead.

That made five deaths.

And it was all Eric's fault.

Ben, this man, and the three men on the boat had all perished because Eric had wanted to go parasailing. His parents, Dr. Grant, and Billy were trapped on the worst place on the planet because he had chosen the Dino-Soar Tour. Self-loathing churned in his stomach, making Eric feel sick. His eyes burned, but he didn't cry. Eric wasn't even sure if he knew how to cry anymore. Who was this man? Did he have a family? Someone to miss him? Was there a child that would never see their father again all because Eric hadn't chosen _any other event?_

"Eric?"

He glanced over at his companion. The paleontologist was watching him intently. a look of sympathy on his face. "I'm sorry you had to see this Eric."

"Who was he?" he whispered.

"Mr. Udesky. He was hired by your parents. He must have fallen behind the group."

"What about the other mercenaries?"

"What?" Dr. Grant asked, puzzled.

"Last night, you said mercenaries. Plural. What about the others? Were they still with my parents when you last saw them?"

"Eric… I'm sorry. The Spinosaurus got them when we first landed here. They died."

"How many?" he croaked out.

"Your parents hired three. Udesky was the last."

Eric closed his eyes and nodded. Seven people dead. More blood on his hands.

"Eric… We can't do anything for him. We need to keep moving. Billy has probably already started leading your parents to the coast."

Eric stood up and opened his eyes. Dr. Grant was right. They couldn't even bury Mr. Udesky; they had neither a shovel nor time. There wasn't a single safe place to keep the body. The animals would get to him no matter what.

Eric paused. Something was _wrong_ with the scene before him. It was niggling in the back of his mind, persistent enough to make him stop mid step.

"Eric?" Dr. Grant asked, worried.

He didn't answer. There was something _off_ about the body. Something that was different to all the death he had seen these past eight weeks. Then, he realized it. "They didn't eat him."

"What?"

"The velociraptors. They didn't eat his body; didn't even move it back to the nest."

"Maybe they weren't hungry."

Eric shook his head. "Then they wouldn't have killed him. These are animals; they don't kill for sport. They only kill for food or territory. But they didn't eat him, and that area wasn't a part of their turf."

The only thing Eric had found reassuring during his time here was the reliability of it all. If an animal killed you, it was either to get food or because you posed a threat to the pack. If you managed to avoid falling prey to either of those two occurrences (a gargantuan task, but not impossible), your chances of survival rose exponentially.

But this, this was different. There wasn't any motive behind it that Eric could see. The raptors were acting completely out of character, and that worried Eric. When the dinosaurs were even more unpredictable than they already were, things became so much more dangerous.

* * *

This island was wearing on Alan's nerves. The constant feeling of being hunted was driving his thoughts mad, making him imagine predators tracking his every move. He glanced down at his younger companion. Eric was, like he had every time they left the water truck, sweeping his gaze across the jungle, zeroing in on every small sound. The young boy was the image of vigilance. Alan couldn't help but find that fact so incredibly… depressing. Twelve year olds should be loud. They should be running around, laughing with friends and causing a ruckus. But here was Eric, not even a teenager yet, creeping through the foliage with all the jaded experience of a career military veteran. His childhood had become just another casualty to InGen's twisted idea of _progress._

Alan's eyes zeroed in on a shape in Eric's hand. The boy had clutched it the entire time they were out there, like a child clinging to a security blanket. He couldn't help but wonder what was so important about it, and Eric apparently noticed his curiosity. "Know what this is?"

The paleontologist took the offered object. "It's a raptor claw. I used to have one. A fossil."

Eric took it back with some measure of relief, holding it comfortably in his hands as if it was just an extension of his will. "Mine is new."

Alan wondered how exactly he had gotten it. A velociraptor wasn't about to give up its primary weapon to a twelve year old. But that, like most of what had happened to Eric while he was on Sorna, was shrouded in mystery. "How much of the island did you explore?" Maybe, just maybe, he'd get a straight answer about this.

Not taking his eyes off the treeline, Eric slipped his hand into his bag and pulled out… another bag. In his palm was a sealed Ziplock that seemed to hold a small, leather bound journal and a couple pens. Moving silently but efficiently, Eric took out the journal, grabbed a folded piece of paper tucked in the pages, slipped the book bag in the plastic and resealed it, placing it back in the safety of his rucksack before Alan could tell anything about it. He handed the paper over to the doctor as he began to explain. "The maps InGen left behind weren't of much use. They only showed the buildings that were in use before the hurricane and since then, the island's changed a lot. I traced the outline of the land onto a sheet of paper and started plotting out the different territories."

Impressed, Alan opened the sheet and looked at Eric's work. He seemed to have managed to get a lot of the interior mapped out, even if he had very little of the coast. "What's, 'Dear God, don't go here if you value your life?'"

"You know, I'm not entirely sure. I started going in that direction, but booked it when I kept finding mangled and rotting carcases strewn all over the place. I assume it's the nesting site of a very dangerous animal. I decided to just cordon off the entire area on the map."

Well, that was one route they would not be taking. "Wait a second… If we take the river we should be able to ride it all the way to the shore."

"If we aren't eaten first. That river runs through the valley. It's where Genghis and Ingrid's pack has claimed. Genghis and Ingrid are velociraptors," he explained at the paleontologist's questioning glance.

"Maybe if we managed to go on that boat we saw earlier they wouldn't attack."

Eric didn't look convinced. "Maybe… Dr. Grant, I think that if we find my parents and Billy we should take them back to the water truck before nightfall. We can always set up a signal on the beach another day."

While Alan was loathe to spend any more time on this island than he had to, he could see the validity in Eric's concerns. The image of the jagged cut stretch across the young boy's abdomen was still burned into his mind. He nodded in agreement, and Eric relaxed.

He didn't stay relaxed for long, however. A noise had his eyes shooting upwards, his body stiff. "Wait here," he whispered before creeping forward, silently darting through the foliage.

Alan had no intention of waiting there. He followed, bending down in an attempt to shield his body from sight. Eric gave him an exasperated look but said nothing. Cautiously, he glanced through the trees before smiling. "Come on," he said, no longer concerned. Not waiting, he left the cover and hurried down a slight incline towards a clearing ahead.

Alan followed Eric's path with his gaze before groaning and taking off after him. "Eric! Wait!"

Ahead of them was a glade that had a small creek running through it. In the clearing, however, was a family of triceratops: an adult and four adolescents. And Eric was walking straight towards them.

Grant almost swore when the smallest of the trikes waddled up to the boy. Triceratops were dedicated parents and skillful fighters. It could kill Eric for being near its child. And then the adult… did nothing. It just glanced at the two figures before continuing to chew on a patch of leaves. Eric laughed as the excited animal fell over itself to greet him. Smiling, he beckoned the doctor closer.

Bewildered, Grant slowly approached the pair. "Eric… What…"

"Give me your hand," he responded, not answering the question _at all._ Cautiously, Alan drew closer. Eric just rolled his eyes in exasperation and grabbed the paleontologist's hand, tugging him forward. Ignoring all protests, he placed Dr. Grant's hand on the snout of the baby trike. The animal was not happy with the current situation. It shuffled its feet and snorted uncomfortably, alerting the attention of its mother. The older trike looked towards them curiously, pinning the two humans with a hard glare. Automatically, Grant pulled back his hand and retreated.

"Eric, this is dangerous; we should go."

Eric rolled his eyes again. "You're nervous, and it's making the trike nervous too. Just relax. Respect him, don't fear him." He held out his hand and raised an eyebrow, his expression expectant. Reluctantly, Alan allowed him to replace his hand on the animal. This time, however, he tried to relax.

The baby sniffed the doctor's appendage cautiously. Slowly, the animal began to happily nuzzle his hand. Alan smiled and laughed. He had forgotten. Forgotten the feeling he had when he first saw that sick triceratops in Jurassic Park, forgotten how much he used to love the creatures, just plain forgotten. They truly were the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

Eric was smirking at him victoriously. "Dr. Grant- okay, fine, _Alan,"_ he said in exasperation at the look the paleontologist gave him. "Meet Toto. His sister with the red trim around her ankles is Dorothy. The one that's fleeing from the butterfly is Cowardly, and the trike that's completely fascinated by it's own reflection is Scarecrow. And that's their mom, Glinda," he said, indicating each respective animal with a nod.

Alan laughed at the names. "You know this group?"

Eric let loose his own small laugh. "Yeah. Toto ran up to me one day, scared me half to death. I see them around every now and then. Glinda's used to me, she knows I won't hurt them."

Alan smiled widely and continued to pet Toto. "They're amazing," he murmured. "Amazing."

Several minutes later, the two castaways were seated on a log overlooking the glade, watching the small family in contentment. Alan took a proffered canteen from Eric before asking a question that had been on his mind for a while. "So, Eric. What made you start naming all the dinosaurs?"

"I haven't named all the dinosaurs. Just the ones I see a lot. As to _why,_ well… I guess I started seeing a lot of the same ones everyday, then started noticing how unique each of them acted. Every dinosaur that I've seen has its own, distinct personality. I guess a part of me figured that they deserved their own name to fit. And well…The longer I was here the lonelier I became. I guess a part of me was hoping if they had names I wouldn't be so alone anymore." Eric looked down, refusing to meet his eyes. "It was stupid, I know."

For a long time, Alan didn't speak. Then, "What happened to Ben, Eric?"

Eric's eyes snapped up towards the professor. Slowly, he took in a shaky breath. "We landed on Isla Sorna. That's explanation enough."

"We found the parasail," Alan said, watching his companion for a reaction. "I know he never made it out of that tree. Eric…. What happened?"

"We landed," the boy repeated shakily. "And I panicked. Ben… Ben didn't. He calmed me down. Got me out of the tree. But when he tried to get out, he couldn't. Belt was jammed. So… So he told me to get something to cut it with. I went into the treeline and found a sharp rock but when I turned back… We had landed too close to a raptor nest, you see," Eric rambled, glancing up. "If we hadn't landed there, they wouldn't have come. They didn't see me. I was hidden behind a tree. Ben…" he continued, his voice cracking. "Ben told me to run. He said he was sorry and that help would be there soon. And then the raptors attacked. I ran… and they followed. Ended up climbing a tree. One of the raptors tried to climb up after me. I almost fell out of that stupid tree, I was so scared. It ended up falling. The next morning, I climbed down and they were gone. I ended up finding this claw lodged in the bark," he explained, holding up the weapon. "I waited for a rescue, but no one came and…." For a moment, Eric was silent. Then, "The raptor that killed Ben saved my life. It snapped a troodons neck before it could kill me. I don't even know what to think about that. I mean, you watch the news and you see stories about murderers and rapists and it's easy to hate those guys. They chose to hurt someone else. But raptors… they didn't. They've always been like that. And I don't hate them. Maybe I should, but I don't."

Alan was silent. He didn't know what to say. Somehow, he didn't think an "I'm sorry" would cover it. Suddenly, Eric cleared his throat. "So, uh, if we're asking personal questions, can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"Why do you hate dinosaurs?"

"I don't hate dinosaurs," Dr. Grant denied automatically.

Eric gave him an exasperated look. "'Genetically engineered theme park monsters' ring a bell? Come on. Look at Cowardly down there. He may not be exactly like the trikes of old, but he's no monster."

"I don't know, after Jurassic Park everything just got… complicated." Alan looked out over the glade, watching the trikes at play. Scarecrow was still staring at his reflection, tentatively reaching out his arm then jerking back when he saw the action was reciprocated. Toto was scampering curiously across the clearing, startling Cowardly into falling over. Glinda was just watching it all with a practiced eye, content all was well. "Triceratops were my favorite growing up," he proclaimed with a smile. "What was yours?"

Eric let loose a short, bitter laugh. "Velociraptor."

* * *

Once upon a time, Alan Grant had loved dinosaurs.

They had been amazing, graceful creatures that soared far above people. As a child, he would daydream about how they would look and sound and act. Most boys had imaginary friends. He had imaginary dinosaurs. In his mind's eye he could always see them, darting through a primordial jungle, fierce and majestic and _alive._

And that had been something no one could take away from him.

Even as he grew, he never forgot his love for the creatures. It had led to a fierce, all-consuming ambition to become a paleontologist, so that he would never have to give them up. No matter how many fights he got into with his alcoholic, sometimes violent father about how he should _get his head out of the clouds and start pursuing a_ real _profession,_ he refused to be swayed. Dinosaurs were a mystery, one that he wanted to solve. Even when he was kicked out of his own home for daring to become a paleontology major, he stuck with his dream. Alan worked three jobs to put himself through school and ended up graduating early, with honors. He became one of the top researchers in his field, despite also being one of the youngest. And when they always asked him how he did it, he just smiled. Because they would never be able to comprehend that the reason why he could understand them so well was because in his mind, they were still alive.

And soon, he became lost in his world of dust and bones and he was _happy_ about it.

And then John Hammond invited him to Jurassic Park.

When he first saw those brachiosaurus, he had almost fainted. Because this time, they weren't his imagination. This time, they were _alive_ and beautiful and _so much better than he had ever imagined._ And for a short time, he had been swept up in the illusion of Jurassic Park. He had been caught in the wonder and majesty and _impossibility_ of all of it.

Malcolm hadn't, of course. Alan doubted he had ever been swept up in anything in his entire life, except maybe his vaunted Chaos Theory. It wasn't until Grant saw the raptor hatch that he started to become afraid. He knew about velociraptors, of course. He was the leading scientific mind on the behavior and hunting patterns of the velociraptor.

Which meant he knew just how dangerous they were.

And Alan began to see the park in a different light. Suddenly, it had been revealed to be the reckless, dangerous thing InGen had created. Even if he had briefly forgotten that when he saw the Triceratops, he still knew that it was a mistake. A fact that had only been reinforced when the Tyrannosaurus Rex escaped.

He hadn't thought when he saw the Rex attack Tim and Lex. It didn't matter that he hadn't liked kids, they were still _kids_ and it was his job to protect him. And while he hadn't even liked Malcolm before then, he had discovered a newfound respect for the man when he acted as a distraction while Alan saved the kids. He had feared the man dead, just another casualty of InGen's _progress._ Traveling through the park, his thoughts had been consumed with how to keep them all alive in this alien world they had been tossed into.

And somehow, he had managed. Even if Tim needed to undergo physical therapy to overcome the nerve damage his almost fatal shock had wrought, and Lex had been too scared to let go of his hand at the airport, insisting that _he left us, he left us, you promised you wouldn't,_ they were still _alive_ and Alan still thanked God for that everyday. After signing all the Non-Disclosures and saying goodbye to InGen forever, he had been happy to head back to his uncomplicated world of dust and bones.

But suddenly, it wasn't so uncomplicated anymore.

For a while, he and Ellie had stayed together. He had even proposed not long after the Incident. She had said yes, and for quite some time they talked about a house with a white picket fence and a dog running around the yard, and even a couple kids in the mix. For a long, long time they went through the motions and pretended they were functioning. Until, one day, they realized they didn't really want to marry each other. They loved one another, without a doubt, but just not in a matrimony kind of way. They had just been using each other as an emotional crutch, and it couldn't keep going on. The split had been amicable, and they remained friends after the break up.

His relationship hadn't been the only thing that wasn't working out. Every where he went, he saw dinosaurs. Shadows on the walls became raptors stalking through corridors. The too-loud rumble of a college student's beaten down truck because the growl of a Tyrannosaur. Alan couldn't even go outside during rainstorms anymore, not after the Rex's attack. He just holed up in his office, his hands over his ears to block out the imaginary screams of Tim and Lex, and waited for the storm to pass. During one storm, he had seen glimpses of a flashlight beam through his closed blinds. The moment he saw those flashes, his mind had become awash with _turn the light off_ and _need to find a flare need to get to the kids Oh God Oh God they're going to die._ He had ended up having a panic attack, and collapsed helplessly next to his desk with panicked breaths. Billy had been the one that found him. Back then, the boy had been an up and coming undergrad that adored paleontology. In the process of calming his professor down, he had learned that everything that Malcolm had said was true. It had been hard not to, considering all Alan had been able to do was clumsily try to explain that Tim and Lex needed help and Malcolm was distracting the Rex so they needed to move _now._

To his credit, Billy never told a soul. If he had, no doubt they would both have had their reputations trashed by InGen just like Malcolm. Billy had just calmed him down and listened to Grant's tale, then always made sure to be there whenever it rained after that incident. The maturity Billy had shown while dealing with the entire thing had been one of the reasons Alan had taken him under his wing as a grad student. And even if the student still had that excited gleam in his eyes whenever he thought about the fact that _dinosaurs were real_ , Alan understood because he had once been the same way.

He had never seen a psychiatrist. If he had gone to one and said the cause of his trouble was dinosaurs, the best case scenario would have been getting quietly committed to a mental facility. InGen had never provided one, and Alan wouldn't have accepted even if they had. Instead, he spoke with the other survivors. He had late night chats with Ellie and even Malcolm, because while he found the other man pompous and egotistical, he still _understood._ Tim and Lex's mom had ended up having to move the family to a neighborhood near the University of Denver so the kids could see him everyday. Alan had been really, very grateful for this because it meant he could see for his own two eyes he had gotten them off alive. And slowly, he got better. He still couldn't stand rainstorms and the sizzle of electricity still made his heart stop with fear, but he could finally close his eyes without seeing a Rex bearing down on him.

And then the San Diego Incident happened.

Honestly speaking, Alan had been grateful that no one ever believed Malcolm. While he felt terrible for how the public was treating him and he admired him for speaking up, he was glad no one except Billy and the other survivors truly knew what had happened to him. But then a T-Rex stampeded through downtown San Diego, and suddenly _everyone_ knew and worse, they wanted to know more.

Before the truth had come out, Dr. Grant had filled lecture halls because of his prodigious insight on an extinct animal. After the Incident, his talks were filled by people who didn't really give a damn about the creatures, they just wanted to know every gory detail of the worst experience of his life. Gone were the days intrepid scientific debates and discussions. Now, Alan Grant was nothing more than some kind of spectacle for the masses. And it was all because an eccentric old man decided to play God.

Once upon a time, Alan Grant had loved dinosaurs.

But then the dinosaurs ruined his life.

* * *

Exactly fifty-nine seven o'clocks had passed since Paul Kirby had discovered his son was missing.

The divorce had been hard, bitter, and drawn out. Custody of Eric had been the primary thing they had fought over. Paul was ashamed to say that Eric had suffered a lot from all of the fighting. There had been more than one occasion where Eric had taken off for a night, running from all the screaming and arguments. They never had found out where he went when he ran off. They had always just been relieved that he came back. Eventually, they came to an agreement. Amanda would get school years, Paul would get summers, and holidays were negotiable (which meant there would be even more screaming).

Then Amanda had gotten a job offer in San Diego and left Enid, taking Eric with her.

Paul would have likely become depressed from the loss of his family if it weren't for the phone calls. Every night, of his own accord, Eric would call his father at precisely seven o'clock. He would babble about his new school or neighborhood or whatever dinosaur he had researched that day, and Paul would listen to it all with a smile on his face. He had been grateful that his son would always call. He had taken it as a sign that, despite all the problems, his son still loved him.

So instead of falling into despair, Paul had worked harder. He learned how to swim and got off all of the weight he had put on during the failed marriage. He improved his business and started planning for the summers when his son would finally be home. And whenever he heard other men complaining about their rebellious sons, Paul would just smile because his son had every reason to rebel but stayed the amazing kid he always had been.

He had been excited for when Eric came home. He had made plans for a father-son camping trip, just like Eric had always wanted to go on. Paul was going to take Eric to one of those Natural History Museums he had always liked and a thousand other things, all to make it the best summer possible. He was so excited to surprise his son, and show him that even though he and Amanda were divorced, it didn't mean that they loved him any less.

But then Amanda had called, and asked for the first two weeks of summer to take Eric on a trip to Costa Rica with Ben Hildebrand.

Paul had never liked Ben Hildebrand. He was too wild, too carefree, and too reckless. He hadn't wanted the man anywhere near his son. But Eric liked him, and Amanda had made it abundantly clear that he had no say in what she did with her life, so Paul held his tongue. That didn't mean, however, he had to consent to the trip. During the summer, he had custody of Eric. Amanda would have no right to take his son without his permission. And Paul had been close, _so close,_ to saying no.

Except Amanda had offered Christmas.

It would be an exchange. He gave up two weeks of the summer with Eric, and he would get his son during his two week Christmas vacation from school. Paul had been lost in thoughts of continuing old traditions with Eric. He was already making plans of taking his son to that lot where you had to cut down the Christmas tree yourself, and watching _It's a Wonderful Life_ even though they had already seen it a thousand times before.

And so Paul said yes.

In the days leading up to the trip, Eric had been excited. He had never been out of the country before, and couldn't wait for Costa Rica. Paul would smile half-heartedly and listen to his son talk. He was happy for his son, truly he was. It was an experience that Paul Kirby, owner of Kirby's Paint and Tile Plus would never be able to afford, and if that experience had to come from Ben Hildebrand, well, he would just hold his tongue.

Now, he would give _anything_ to have changed what he did. To have said no, to have kept Eric from going on that trip. Even if he hated him for it, at least he would have been safe.

Even while he was in Costa Rica, his son still called him every night. He would list off what they had done that day and talk about what they could do together when he got back. Then, one day, Eric had been more excited than usual. Ben was taking him parasailing the next day. They were going on one of those Dino-Soar tours at Eric's request. Paul hadn't like the idea, but Eric had been so happy that he hadn't protested. The trip was almost over anyway, and soon Paul would have his son back. He didn't want a stupid argument like that to ruin their summer together.

The next day, Paul had been the one that was excited. In three days, Eric would be back. He packed the newly-bought camping supplies and lined them up by the door, because even though it was still a few days until Eric got back he wanted the tent to be the first thing Eric saw when he got home. It would be the perfect surprise. That day, at precisely seven o'clock, Paul had been by the phone, waiting for the phone to ring as it had without fail every single day since the divorce.

That call never came.

At first, Paul had thought nothing of it. Maybe Eric was just running late. Maybe there was a problem with the hotel's phones. But then eight o'clock came and went, quickly followed by nine and ten o'clock, and the phone remained silent. Paul had found himself disappointed. He went to bed upset that Eric had forgotten him in the excitement of the day, but he never _once_ consider that something may be wrong. Because it was _Eric._ That boy had been unstoppable since the day he was born. There was no way anything had happened to him. He son would probably call the next day, gushing about an amazing parasailing trip.

Instead, a call came at two in the morning. But it wasn't from Eric. It was from Amanda.

At first, Paul hadn't been able to make sense of anything she said. Amanda had been hysterical. But soon, she calmed down long enough for him to make sense of what she was saying. Ben and Eric had left for the docks that morning like they had planned. They had gotten on a boat and left for the waters surrounding Isla Sorna.

 _And they never came back._

Amanda had been to the police station and the American Embassy and a thousand other places, but nobody would send help. They had all said the same thing: Eric was dead.

Paul had been numb. He hung up the phone and walked past the camping supplies still neatly waiting by the door for his son. He walked up the stairs to Eric's old room, still exactly as he left it when he moved out. He sat on Eric's bed and looked at the dinosaur figurines still lined up on his desk and the neat little bookshelf still filled with tomes. He looked at his son's room that may never be occupied again, _because he may never see his son again._

And Paul Kirby cried.

Then, he stopped crying. He got onto the first plane to Costa Rica with nothing but the clothes on his back, not even waiting to pack. When he disembarked at the airport, Amanda had been waiting. She had ran up to him and hugged him and they cried together, as if the divorce had never happened.

And for the first time in years they agreed on something. Their son was alive.

The problem was that no one else would believe it. For three weeks they stayed in Costa Rica, arguing with everyone they could, _and nothing happened._ Everyone they spoke to gave their condolences, but all agreed that Eric was dead and they should move on. They had tried to explain, of course, _why_ Eric was alive. Eric was headstrong, stubborn, resourceful, and _smart._ If it was him against dinosaurs, Eric would win, every time. And while Paul still burned with shame when he remembered _why_ his son was so resourceful, he pushed it aside because he was thankful for anything that kept his son alive a little longer. Eric had joined the Boy Scouts to get away from all the fighting. His running skills came not from natural talent, but because every time his parents argued about custody Eric would take off, running as fast as he possibly could. When he was younger, his escape talents had come from sneaking out of the house to take himself places, because his parents were too consumed in themselves to notice that he wanted to go to the library. Before, Paul had hated that he had driven his son to all that, but now he just hoped those skills would keep Eric alive until they could rescue him.

Paul finally understood why faith was so important to Amanda. Sometimes, you didn't need proof. You just needed to believe in something that no one else did. It defied all logic to imagine that a twelve year old had survived Sorna. Trained adults had died in minutes after setting foot there, so Eric shouldn't have a chance. But Paul ignored it all, because _his son was alive._

At four weeks, Paul and Amanda left Costa Rica. They were tired of getting nowhere, and the thought of Eric on that place was driving them mad. Everyone else thought they had given up. They were all wrong. Paul and Amanda had merely switched tactics.

If no one was going to get their son, they would go themselves. They were going to get their son back, no matter what it took. Paul took a mortgage out on his house and his store, and Amanda sold her car and took out a loan so that they would have enough money to hire mercenaries and get a plane. It was all falling into place. They just needed one more thing.

Someone who had been on Sorna before.

The first person who had came to mind was Dr. Alan Grant. Eric had talked about him all the time, even before the San Diego Incident. The paleontologist had even saved those two kids when he was on Sorna. If there was anyone who could get his son off that island alive, it would be Dr. Grant.

He felt guilty about tricking the man, but there had been no other way. All the survivors of the Jurassic Park Incident had made it abundantly clear that they would never go back, with Dr. Grant the most vocal out of all of them. And Paul had been serious about the money. Even if he had to work everyday for the rest of his life, he would pay back the professor and his grad student.

Amanda stumbled to a stop in front of him. "Listen."

Confused, Paul obeyed. Then, his heart almost stopped, because he was hearing a voice that he had missed for the past fifty-nine seven o'clocks.

"Mom! Dad!"

* * *

Eric and Dr. Grant had been walking in silence after the seeing the triceratops. Both of them were lost in their own thoughts, and honestly, it was safer when they were quiet. Later, Eric would be thankful for the silence. Because without it, he would have never heard the phone ring.

At first, he thought he had been imagining things. There had been no way that that stupid jingle Eric had always hated was playing on Isla Sorna. But then the noise had persisted, and Eric realized it was real. He stumbled to a stop, startling Dr. Grant into stopping also. "Listen," he said, and prayed it would play again. And there it was, that horrible, eight-note tune that had driven Eric crazy for so long.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

"That's my dad's satellite phone!" he proclaimed. And then, he forgot everything that he had learned in the past eight weeks on this island. He forgot about every single safety procedure he had implemented for surviving in these woods. He started to run towards the noise before it could stop, disappearing and taking Eric's parents with it. "Mom! Dad!"

Vaguely, he was aware of Dr. Grant running after him. He could hear him ask how he could tell, and hurriedly shouted back the jingle. But all of this barely penetrated the cloud of _his parents were here._

Before, Eric hadn't _truly_ believed that his parents were on the island. On a level, he knew that Dr. Grant had no reason to lie. But sometimes, he still had trouble believing _Dr. Grant_ was there, and he could _see_ him. A part of him hadn't truly believed that he would find his parents on this island. But now, he could hear the phone. It was something tangible, something _real_ that proved his parents were there. And he had to get to them.

Eric broke through the treeline. Then, he saw them. His parents were there, separated from him by a large gate, but still running towards him, screaming his name back.

They reached the gate at the same time. Eric ignored the thick cables separating them and threw his arms around his mom. Soon, his dad was there and they were all hugging and _together._

Eric had never thought he would see his parents again.

"How did you know we were here?" his dad asked, and Eric wanted to cheer because he had forgotten what his father sounded like.

"That phone, that stupid jingle from the store I heard it!"

Ever since he had found Dr. Grant, things had been looking up. Which is probably why he forgot the most important rule about surviving on Sorna: Never let your guard down. Because the moment things get better, everything goes to Hell.

And it wasn't until his parents became increasingly puzzled about the phone that he remembered it.

With a sinking heart, Eric began to notice the signs. A faint, barely-there smell of death and blood of the breeze. The ever-increasing _thump thump thumps_ on the ground.

Impact tremors.

Slowly, Eric turned around when he heard his dad's jingle once more. And he saw the Spinosaurus.

"Run," Grant whispered.

And Eric ran.

He could hear the Spinosaurus getting closer. He could hear it roar with rage. Hurriedly, he dove through a break in the fence, quickly followed by Dr. Grant. He was grabbed by his parents again the moment they were a safe distance away.

And then the Spinosaurus broke through the fence.

Quickly, the group took off towards a building not far away. They locked every single bolt on the steel doors and watched as they groaned under the Spinosaurus's assault. Then, the rattling tapered off. The dinosaur gave up, looking for easier prey. Slowly, the group relaxed.

"You know this building, Eric?" Dr. Grant asked.

He shook his head. "We're at the edge of my map. I never came in here."

"I don't understand," his father broke in, confused. "How did you two find each other?"

Grant let loose a short, breathy laugh. "Eric, uh, threw gas grenades at the raptors when they cornered me. Saved my life."

Happily, Eric watched as Dr. Grant walked further into the building, followed by the man Eric hadn't met yet. He must be Billy. But as their conversation became more intense, Eric found his smile disappearing.

"Please give me the bag. It's not safe."

Slowly, Alan unzipped the bag and opened it. Then, he said something that made Eric's heart stop.

"Raptor eggs."

* * *

 **Another chapter done! Don't expect updates every three days from now on, though. After the last chapter I ended up getting really sick, so I've been stuck at home with nothing to do but type since then. So, that was my reasoning about why Dr. Grant hated dinosaurs after the Jurassic Park Incident. It was because he had a serious case of untreated PTSD. I didn't think InGen would likely provide a psychiatrist, seeing as they had that whole "secrecy" thing going, and even if they did I don't think Grant would accept. So the memories played merry havoc on his life, instead. I've got one more chapter for Jurassic Park III planned. So this is the last chance to tell me if you want the two remaining Rexes to come kick Spino butt, or I will make the decision. Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to all the absolutely fantastic people that followed, favorited, and reviewed! Shout out to** Doctor Levine, Chaotician, Guest, Guest, peppymint, Countdown, Apache Thunderbird, **and** bunny's pumpkin patch **for their great reviews! In response to questions:**

Apache Thunderbird: **Thanks for the great review! Yes, Barry will be a big part of the story, but unfortunately he does not come into the picture until after Eric has become Owen.**

icanhascamaro: **Thank you so much for another fantastic review! I am sorry to say that it was not Eric that was too tired to count but me. I wrote that scene at one in the morning and made juvenile mistakes as consequence. I never actually caught on to it while I was proofreading. I'll go back and fix it when I post this chapter. Yes, that was a Wizard of Oz theme. I have actually been under the impression that it was Todo for years. That's… embarrassing. Thank you for clearing that up for me. That is yet another mistake I will be correcting when I post this chapter.**

 **Sorry this was so late! Life smacked me in the face and ruthlessly consumed all my free time. High School was the most merciless of the bunch. My teachers seem convinced that my only purpose in life is to do homework.**

 **Okay, so the majority of the voters seem to want to see Sobek die a painful death. Never let it be said that we Jurassic Park fans aren't a vindictive bunch. Luckily, I wanted that to happen too, so it was going to happen the entire time unless a bunch of you decided to rally for the Spinosaurus's life. On to the battle arena– I mean story…**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Seven:** In Which Sobek the Spinosaurus Gets His Ass Royally Handed to Him Because Really, That's What the People Want to See

In his lifetime, Billy Brennan had had quite a few spectacular screw ups. "To err is human" was how the saying went, and he could personally attest to that. Never before, however, had he messed up quite so badly.

The raptor eggs had been a mistake. It was a stupid, rash decision that he had regretted almost instantly. But by the time he came to his senses, it was too late to fix it. After all, it wasn't like he could ask Alan if they could make a quick pit stop at a velociraptor nest.

When he was still an undergraduate, the last thing he had expected to discover was that dinosaurs were alive. He had heard, of course, about the crazy mathematician that was claiming some company had cloned dinos on some island. Everyone had. He hadn't, however, paid the accusations any mind.

Until he walked in on his favorite professor having a panic attack.

At first, he had thought Dr. Grant was having a heart attack. He had run over, about to call for help, when he noticed the symptoms. Billy had seen panic attacks before, and Dr. Grant was most definitely having one. When he tried to calm him down, however, he hadn't made any sense. The man had gasped out that they needed to run, needed to get to Tim and Lex, that Malcolm couldn't distract the Tyrannosaur forever and they had to move before it came back and killed them all. Billy had been confused, until it hit him.

Ian Malcolm had claimed that Dr. Alan Grant was one of the people that had been on Isla Nublar. He had said that the doctor had rescued two kids from a T-Rex before managing to get both of them through the park singlehandedly. And he had said that he had injured his leg while distracting the Rex.

Malcolm had been telling the truth.

At first, he had thought he was being ridiculous. Dinosaurs, alive? It sounded like a science fiction novel. But the longer his professor panicked, the more convinced he became. He couldn't be faking fear like that; it was too real for acting. So, when he finally managed to calm Grant down, he had confronted his teacher. At first, the man had tried to play it off, but Billy refused to be fooled. Eventually, he broke down and told him in the briefest terms possible that everything Malcolm had said was true.

A large part of him had been excited. _Dinosaurs were alive._ For a paleontology major, that was one of the most exciting things you could hear.

Another part of him had been completely and utterly pissed off.

Billy had seen how Dr. Grant was falling apart at the seams. He had seen how storms would make him shake and shadows would make him jump. And it was all because that moronic company brought dinosaurs into the world and couldn't even keep their safety features working.

Slowly, Grant had gotten better. He went back to his dig sites and began to heal amongst the ancient bones and the dusty ground. And Billy was glad, because his professor was finally recovering from a hellish experience.

Until the San Diego Incident.

After that, there was no peace for the doctor. Everyone wanted to know every little detail about something that he was still recovering from. The wound was reopened over and over again, until Billy thought that it would never heal. The only relief Dr. Grant had were the dig sites, and soon he lost that too. With dinosaurs no longer extinct funding dried up, and Billy was forced to watch as Grant sank further and further into his nightmares.

When the Kirbys came knocking, Billy had thought their troubles were solved. If they could fund the sites maybe Alan would become his old self again. His motives weren't entirely altruistic; he needed experience on a dig site in order to finish his degree, and if the site closed early due to funding the PhD he had worked so hard for would be forever out of his reach. But then the Kirbys had turned out to be plumbers and all of Billy's hopes had plummeted.

Then, he saw the raptor eggs, and everything went to Hell.

Alan hated him. Honestly, Billy couldn't really blame him. The raptors had affected him the most after Jurassic Park, and Billy had brought them down on all of them in a moment of stupidity.

"Billy?"

He looked up to see the Kirby boy looking at him hesitantly. Honestly, he wasn't sure what to think about him. After interacting with his parents, Billy didn't have the best opinion of the Kirby family (kidnappings did tend to make a bad impression). Eric, however, seemed different from his parents. He was obviously more resourceful, seeing as he had lasted eight weeks alone to his parents' probable two minutes if Alan hadn't been with them, and Dr. Grant seemed to like him. The man had been frequently shooting protective looks in his direction, as if he was constantly trying to find the best way to keep the boy alive. The only time Billy had seen him act that way with anyone was when the Murphy kids visited the campus. "Hey, Eric. Did they find the key yet?" he sighed.

Deciding not to risk running back into the Spinosaurus, they had chosen to cut through the building they were in instead of exiting the way they came. Unfortunately, the door leading out of the room they were currently in was locked. Alan and the Kirby parents had gone to raid an adjacent office for a key, leaving Billy sitting sullenly at the edge of the room and Eric watching warily from the corner.

Eric shook his head no. "I, uh, wanted to thank you for helping my parents through Sorna. I also wanted to apologize for getting you into this mess. You wouldn't have been kidnapped if it wasn't for me."

"It's not your fault, kid. Besides, it's not like I haven't caused quite a bit of trouble myself," he added ruefully.

"He didn't mean it, you know. Dr. Grant was just upset. People always say things they don't mean when they're upset."

Billy shook his head. "I'm not so sure, Eric. I really screwed up. I've brought the most dangerous animal on the island down on all of us. I don't think he's going to forgive me for this one."

"So, prove him wrong then," Eric replied determinedly.

Billy glanced up in confusion.

"You made a mistake. A monumentally stupid one, granted, but it was still a mistake. So, if you think that Dr. Grant is going to forever lump you in with the morons that made this place, then prove that you're not like them. He's not, though. He was really worried about you when you were separated. He's not going to stop caring just because you were impulsive… And made a really stupid decision… That brought the wrath of apex predators down on all of us… Did you really have to choose velociraptors? Out of all the dinosaurs on Sorna? Couldn't you have grabbed a maiasaur egg or something? Those are easy to outrun."

Billy stared for at him for a long moment, then jolted with surprise when he realized Eric was actually teasing him. It was somewhat comforting to know that the boy still had his sense of humor.

"We found the key." Billy looked over to see Alan and the Kirbys emerging from the office. The doctor wasn't even looking at him anymore, instead addressing Eric. It seemed that he had chosen to ignore his grad student's existence entirely. At least he wasn't looking at him with disgust anymore. As for the Kirbys, well… They hadn't taken their focus off Eric since they found him. Honestly, Billy was surprised they hadn't had a panic attack at being one room over while they searched for a key.

Billy trailed behind as they all went down the rickety metal staircase to the door below. Alan pushed the key into the lock and opened it with a screech, making Eric tense at the noise. Slowly, the group filed onto the metal platform and shut the door behind them.

And they disappeared into the mist.

* * *

Eric always found himself surprised at the level of dislike this island could drive him to.

He still didn't hate Sorna; he'd probably have to psychoanalyze himself to figure out why when his life was no longer in constant danger. However, that didn't mean he didn't hate that he was _on_ Sorna. And he was constantly discovering new pieces of the island that he hated being on more than the others.

This building, for example.

Something was _off_ with this building. Not only was it an unknown, but the mist made it impossible for Eric to see anything. And for someone who had spent the last two months relying on his senses to stay alive, it was a nightmare. His skin was crawling and he wanted to get out of there more than anything else.

Eric took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. They'd all be out of there soon; nothing bad would happen.

"Okay, come on over! One at a time!"

Eric forced himself not to jump at Dr. Grant's call. He couldn't stand how loud everything was. First the door screeched, then people started yelling. Didn't they realize that they could be attracting _anything?_ Didn't they realize how dangerous it was to make any sound whatsoever?

His mom turned towards him. "Alright, Eric. I'm going to leave you just for a minute, and then you're going to be right behind me. Okay?"

Eric forced himself not to groan. Honestly speaking, it was _embarrassing_ to have his mom baby him, but it was more than that. At this point, he knew more about survival than they did. If they kept trying to hold his hand through this, they'd all wind up dead. Besides, she was wasting time. While he was glad, _so glad,_ to have his mom back, you don't waste a single _second_ on Isla Sorna. If you did, a predator could stumble on you and you'd die. "Mom, I've spent the past eight weeks alone in a water truck. I think I can handle the next two minutes without you." He had to refrain from wincing. That came out so much harsher than he wanted it to.

"Alright," his mom breathed as she turned around. "We're all together now."

Eric watched as the fog consumed her. He strained his ears to hear something, _anything._ He still couldn't shake that _off_ feeling. And after eight weeks, he knew better than to ignore his instincts; they were rarely wrong.

Then it was his turn.

He held his arms out to his sides as he walked across the creaking bridge. It didn't seem to be that far across; it had only taken his mother around twenty-five seconds to cross it while walking slowly. He counted the seconds as he went.

 _One... Two... Three…_

Eric could hear something; he was sure of it. There was a faint whooshing sound coming from the left.

 _Seven… Eight… Nine…_

Eric couldn't see either end of the bridge, only fog.

 _Thirteen… Fourteen… Fifteen…_

The sound was getting closer, and Eric could discern more of it. There was a strange _beat swoosh, beat swoosh_ coming closer and closer.

 _Seventeen… Eighteen… Nineteen…_

An impact rattled through the bridge, shaking Eric to his core. Abruptly, he stopped. He wanted to call out for his mom, even though he knew it couldn't possibly be her. Warily, he peered ahead, trying to see what it was. It came through the mist, its steps heralded by jolting thuds that reverberated through the catwalk.

A pteranodon.

With a shout, Eric turned and fled. He could hear it behind him, its powerful wings beating ever so closer.

"Eric!"

He was not going to die like this. He _did not_ survive for _eight hellish weeks_ on this island just to die now.

And then it grabbed him.

Its talons dug in his arms as it wretched him up into the air. _"No!"_ he shouted, but it was too late. It was carrying him through the air, letting loose shrieks of victory. Eric struggled and screamed, but to no avail. He couldn't get loose.

The fog cleared, and Eric's heart dropped into his stomach. It was taking him to its nest. It released him, and he roughly landed on the hard stone next to someone's _bones._ He glanced up, only to see the hatchling dinosaurs surge towards him. Eric wasn't stupid; he knew that they were dangerous even if they were only babies. He grabbed the skull in his hand and threw it at the closest animal, watching as it connected with its head with a satisfying crack. Eric didn't waste time; he snagged the long bone next to him and began to run. There were large flat rocks looming out ahead of him, and he jumped from one to the next. Then, he skidded to a stop.

He was out of rocks.

And then the hatchlings reached him.

Anyone who thought that baby animals were harmless was an idiot. The pteranodons were vicious as they clambered on his back, snapping at his skin. They pecked at him, their sharp beaks stabbing at his stomach.

"Eric! Hold on!" He looked up in shock to see Billy flying by on that stupid parasail that got them all into this mess in the first place. For a moment, hope surged in his chest before reality came crashing down in the form of infant dinosaurs. Several of them latched onto his lab coat, and Eric wrestled himself out of the fabric. The hatchlings leapt at him again, slashing at his face and neck. He raised the bone and slammed it into one of the babies, watching as it crashed to the side. The victory was brief, however. There were too many of them, and they yanked the makeshift weapon from his hand and clawed at his side.

Eric looked behind him and locked eyes with Billy. "Jump!"

He didn't need to be told twice. He ran back towards the student, shaking off the hatchlings and leaping from rock to rock. He slammed into Billy's side just as he passed the nest, barely evading the beaks of the carnivores.

Eric clung to his savior as they soared through the air. "Billy!" he screamed in warning as the pteranodons rapidly approached. They sliced through the sail with ease, causing Eric's heart to drop in fear.

"Let go now!" Billy shouted. Eric complied, releasing his tenuous grip on the grad student. Billy would have a better chance of outmaneuvering the pteranodons if he wasn't clinging to his back. For a long moment, he hung in the air before he smacked into the river below. Eric sank beneath the waves, watching the bubbles swirl around him as he struggled towards the surface. He emerged on the rocks to the sounds of his parents' panicked shouts. He ignored them, instead searching the skies for any sign of Billy. He didn't have to look for long; Billy's sail had caught on a ledge, trapping him in place as the predators swooped closer and closer. Then, Eric remembered something from when he first crashed here, something that made his stomach twist in fear.

The belt on the parasail jams.

Billy wouldn't be able to get out of the harness; he wouldn't be able to escape the pteranodons. They would surround him, tearing at his skin and slicing open his body, and he would die, _just like Ben._

"Eric! _Eric!"_

Eric spun around to see his mom running towards him. His father and Alan were farther away, looking desperately for any sign of Billy. Panicked, he pointed towards the cliff face and shouted, "There he is! He's across the river!" _Please, oh please God let them be able to help him,_ Eric thought. _Please God, let him live._ Eric didn't want anyone else to die because of him; he _couldn't_ let anyone else die because of that _stupid freaking parasailing trip._

"Get him out of here," his dad called over, waving at his mom. His mom agreed, pushing at him yelling, "Go, Eric! Go! Go!"

"What about Billy?" he shouted, resisting his mom's shoves. He couldn't just _leave_ Billy there. There was always something else, some little trick he could somehow pull out of thin air to survive the day. _Eric needed to help._

"Your father will handle it, Eric! Now, go!"

Reluctantly, Eric set off down the path towards the exit. He and his mother ran towards the metal doorway, their footsteps pounding on the hard rocks. They slammed into the doors and struggled to raise the lock, yanking at the rusted metal with all of their strength. Splashing through the water, they rushed towards the boat tethered down the bank. Hurriedly, Eric climbed on and spun around towards the door, desperately searching for any sign of the others.

He saw his father and Dr. Grant clamber through the water and under the grate.

He saw the pteranodon slam into the metal bars, pulling at them in vain.

He saw the look of anguish on Dr. Grant's face, the sheer guilt and _despair_ twisting his visage.

But he didn't see Billy.

* * *

"Dr. Grant?"

Eric was nervous about approaching the paleontologist. It had been his fault that Billy died; he had only been killed because he was trying to save Eric. Alan could hate Eric for surviving when Billy (and Udesky and Ben and _so many others)_ had died, and honestly, Eric wouldn't blame him.

After all, Eric hated himself for that very same reason.

Still, it wouldn't stop him from talking to the man. Eric still remembered the grief he had felt when Ben died, and he would have given anything back then to have another human being that would just _be there_ and _listen_ while he tried to make sense of a world that just _didn't_ anymore. And while he couldn't change the fact that he had to go through it alone, he would be _damned_ if Dr. Grant had to do the same.

"Hey, Eric," the professor greeted with a false cheer. "How are you doing?"

Nervously, Eric walked forward and sat across from him. "I'm sorry about Billy."

"You know what the last thing I said to him was? I said, 'You're as bad as the people that built this place.' It wasn't true. He was just young and…" Alan shook his head in frustration as he trailed off. "I have a theory there are two kinds of boys: those who want to be astronomers and those who want to be astronauts. The astronomer, the paleontologist," he amended, gesturing to himself, "gets to study these amazing things from a place of complete safety…"

"But then they never get to go into space," Eric finished.

"Exactly. It's the difference between imagining and seeing, to be able to touch them… And that's… That's all that Billy wanted."

Eric glanced down, lost in thought. Dr. Grant was an astronomer, obviously. He studied dinosaurs from long dead bones, imagining how they once were when they were alive but never trying to get close enough to the living counterparts. Billy had been an astronaut, amazed by the prospect of being near the closest thing they would ever know to the primordial beings but risking it all every time he reached out to touch his dream. But what about Eric himself? Granted, he was quite adept at living in close proximity to the animals, but that was more from necessity rather than choice. What did he really _want_ in life? During these past eight weeks, Eric had pretty much shelved all of his old hopes and aspirations. Everything on this island was too immediate to even think about planning for the future. Besides, after everything he had been through he couldn't imagine trying to be like he had been before, going to school and running track and dreaming of one day becoming a doctor. Eric simply wasn't that boy anymore. Who would he be once _(if)_ he got off? Would he be like Dr. Grant, studying from afar, able to imagine something but never truly seeing it? Or would he be like Billy, risking his life just to get a little bit closer?

A shift in the light caught his eyes. The boat had been traveling through a heavily shaded region, the sinews of the river shrouded by trees. Suddenly, the tree line broke apart, allowing the sunlight to flood in. "Dr. Grant," Eric breathed.

It was the valley, the same valley Eric had been watching throughout his stay on Sorna, the same valley that Eric had yearned to be in everyday that he watched it. Eric could see the tree hanging over the cliff side that he had sat in for so long, observing every little movement the dinosaurs made. What's more, he could see the _dinosaurs themselves._ They were so much bigger than they had seemed when he was gazing at them through binoculars, and they were _here_ and _alive_ and _so much more beautiful_ than he had ever imagined when he was watching from the tree. And Eric knew that he would always want to be in space, seeing and touching instead of imagining from afar.

He was an astronaut.

"You know something, Dr. Grant? Billy was right."

* * *

It was night, and they were out, _exposed_ to the wilderness.

It was enough to make Eric want to scream.

They were still traveling the river, very much not back in his water truck where it was safe (or at least as safe as you could get on Isla Sorna). The day he found Dr. Grant (had it really only been yesterday?), Eric had watched as Genghis and Ingrid's pack managed to take down a full grown, albeit somewhat ill, maiasaur. This meant that they wouldn't be hungry for a while, and therefore wouldn't attack and kill them for food. Unfortunately, they could still always kill them for trespassing on their turf.

Eric decided it would be best not to share this little fact with his traveling companions, lest they panic and do something stupid.

His mother had tried to get him to sleep, claiming that he should get his rest while he could. Eric had refused. There was no way he'd be able to sleep with the threat of troodons hanging over his head, and besides, he wasn't ready for his parents to find out about his nightmares. Eric had stayed awake, watching the jungle for any sign of predators. Instead, they had all heard his father's annoying yet beautiful ringtone blare out from a pile of Spinosaurus dung. Eric had been designated to "stay on the boat" duty (and really, sooner or later they would have to have the inevitable discussion about who was more able to move safely about this island), and he got his first close up view of a ceratosaurus when it walked up to the group, glanced at them disinterestedly, and walked away. His mom had been able to drag the phone out of a steaming pile of crap, and Eric was vaguely aware of Dr. Grant and his father checking over the satellite phone on the other end of the boat. He knew that everyone else had pinned their hopes of escape on the device, but Eric refused to. He had spent too long watching the skies, waiting for a rescue that _never came._ He couldn't handle getting his expectations up only to have them crushed yet again.

Eric simply didn't have the strength to hope anymore.

So Eric had trailed over to the other end of the boat, refusing to listen as his parents and Dr. Grant chattered to each other about a rescue that Eric didn't really believe was coming. He wished, _oh God did he wish,_ that he could be just as optimistic as them _but he couldn't._ Not when he still had that small, dark space in his heart bursting with all the pain and sadness that came with eight weeks alone on Sorna, pain and sadness that he had never really had the opportunity to deal with properly. He leaned against the railing of the boat, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his side as he watched the rain splatter against the river. He had partially torn some of the deeper gashes that had yet to fully heal during the pteranodon attack. Still, Eric refused to alert Dr. Grant to the problem. It was barely bleeding and Eric would be able to properly take care of it when _(if)_ they finally got back to his water truck. If he told Dr. Grant, the man may push him to reveal it to his parents, and then they would push him to tell them how he was wounded, and the last thing they all needed was to have a conversation involving troodons and near death experiences. Still, Eric was worried. Sometimes, he felt as if more damage had been wrought in the attack than he was aware of, and now his suspicions only grew. This pain felt like more than a few torn cuts. Eric had been so preoccupied with his troubles that he almost didn't notice the fish.

"Hey guys!" he shouted over the din of the storm. "Come here! Look at this!" They quickly ran over from the other end of the boat, his father and Dr. Grant flanking him.

"Bonitos," Grant elucidated.

Eric knew of only one reason that would make them act like this. "Something must have spooked them." And by something, he meant a _predator._ They would have fled from something that could eat them, and, by extension, possibly eat the humans as well.

Well, that wasn't good.

Alan seemed to agree with him. "Get the engine going, Mr. Kirby," he ordered.

Frantically, Eric tried to help his dad start the engine while Dr. Grant dialed the phone. Vaguely, he could hear the paleontologist shouting, "It's the dinosaur man!"

Moments like these were precisely why Eric refused to hope for rescue.

A collision rocked the boat, knocking them all off of their feet. The phone skittered away from Alan's hands, landing against the side of the vessel. Rising from the depths, Sobek let loose a horrific roar. Hurriedly, the group ran to the other end of the boat and took shelter in the large metal cage sitting on the deck.

Eric knew it wouldn't be enough to stop the Spinosaurus.

The boat pitched to the side again, causing the phone to slide across the sides. Suddenly, the vessel dipped downwards, tipping the cage partially into the river. Eric watched in fear as the Spinosaurus' massive claws gripped the side of the pen, tugging them further into the waves. "Look in the boxes!" Dr. Grant yelled. "Find some weapons!"

Eric knew there wouldn't be any weapons.

The ringing of the phone started them into a frenzy of hope once more. Alan managed to catch it just as they were yanked fully into the river. The sudden, freezing rush of water sent a shock through Eric's system. Rapidly, the cage began to sink beneath the waves, dragged down by its own weight. Eric gulped in precious oxygen, listening to the garbled sounds of the others as they struggled in the surf. Faintly, he could hear Alan screaming, "Ellie! Ellie!"

And Eric knew that whoever this Ellie was, she would never reach them in time.

He threw himself against the side of the cage, struggling against the metal bars as they were tossed around in the small space. The cage settled against the rocky bottom of the river, the only opening pressed against the surface.

They were trapped.

The Spinosaurus tore through the top of the cage with ease, fishing for them with its massive scythe claws. Frantically, Eric dodged the sharp instruments, his heart racing and his lungs aching and _he couldn't breathe._

Without warning, the claws retracted from the enclosure and the Spinosaurus retreated. Not wasting a moment, Dr. Grant pulled himself out of the cage before helping Eric up. They dove into the water, swimming for shore. Eric clamber to his feet and spun around, looking back towards the Spinosaurus.

And he finally saw what had distracted it.

His father was standing on a crane, some leftover artifact of InGen's stay. The carnivore was right next to him, snapping its jaws in an attempt to grab his father. Eric's heart almost stopped as he saw Sobek ram its head into the structure over and over again, knocking Paul Kirby from his perch. His father managed to grab onto the bottom of the crane's arm, hanging on by a thread. Wildly, Eric looked around for something, _anything_ he could do to stop the dinosaur. Instead, he saw Dr. Grant.

The paleontologist had dived back beneath the waves, somehow retrieving a flare gun. As the doctor pointed it towards the carnivore, a very small David battling a very large Goliath, his weapon a flare rather than a stone, Eric's mind filled in the pieces of his plan.

The Spinosaurus was standing in the water.

The water was filled with gasoline from the punctured gas tank.

Gasoline was flammable.

Dr. Grant was about to launch a flare into the water, setting it alight.

He was going to set the Spinosaurus on fire.

Eric watched, breathless, as Alan aimed the gun and pulled the trigger… Only for it to do nothing. With a crushing understanding, Eric realized that the flare wasn't going to work. It had been underwater; it would no longer light. Eric glared down at the water in frustration, trying to come up with a new plan. However, the unexpected sight that greeted him distracted him from any thoughts he may have had.

Ripples were jolting through the water. Not the small splashes from the pounding of the rain, but large, uniform waves running through the water.

Impact tremors.

Twin roars brought Eric's attention shooting upwards. There, at the other end of the river, were Nephthys and Set.

They had come to avenge Anubis.

The new opponents drew the Spinosaurus away from Eric's father. With a growl, the carnivore thundered towards the other end of the river towards its foes. Sobek was greeted with a massive body crashing into its side, courtesy of a furious Neph. The moment the dinosaur had left, Eric saw his father lose his grip on the wet metal, falling into the churning waves below.

 _His father couldn't swim._

Eric splashed into the river, trying to reach his dad before he drowned. His mom tried to grab onto him, to stop him, but Eric easily yanked free. But before he could dive into the waves, a strong arm wrapped around his middle, stopping him in his tracks. Eric struggled against Dr. Grant's grip, but to no avail. " _Get off of me!"_ he shouted. _"Get off!"_

" _Eric, stop!"_ Alan shouted back. "Your father went up there to protect you, he wouldn't want you to get killed trying to help him!"

Eric watched helplessly as Sobek struggled against the combined assault of Nephthys and Set, their steps coming dangerously close to where his dad fell. _"Dad!"_ he screamed, fighting even harder against the paleontologist's grip. _"Dad!"_

Eric watched as both of the Rexes slammed into Sobek's side, sending him flying into the massive metal crane. He watched as both structure and dinosaur alike tethered dangerously under the assault. And he watched as both toppled and fell, _right where his father had landed._

Eric stopped struggling and just stood numbly in the torrent. Even if his father had somehow managed to avoid drowning, there was no way he would have survived a collision like that.

His father was _dead,_ and it was _his fault_. He had joined Billy and Udesky and Ben and _so many others,_ nothing but ghosts circling helplessly in his mind.

" _Paul you can't! You can't leave me like this!"_ his mother screamed next to him.

"I'm not going anywhere!"

Eric spun around at the sound of his dad's voice. Paul Kirby was standing to the right of them, dripping wet but otherwise fine. Eric shook himself free of Dr. Grant's grip and sprinted over to his father, clinging to him in a desperate attempt to reassure himself that he was alive. His mother joined them in the hug, and the once broken family just stood there amongst the rain, comforted in each other's presence.

Slowly, Eric pulled back. He wanted to say something. He wanted to laugh and shout and scream _you almost died you_ can't _die._ Instead, "When did you learn how to swim?" came tumbling from his lips.

"I, uh, wanted it to be a surprise," answered his father. "I had planned to take you camping when you got back from Costa Rica. We were going to go up to the lake, and I wanted to be able to go swimming with you."

"Camping?" Eric numbly replied.

"Yeah, just like you always wanted to. It probably would have been better without the dinosaurs."

Eric let loose a short, hysterical laugh. "Probably," he echoed.

The defeated shriek of Sobek drew his attention back to the war that was raging across the river. The Spinosaurus was on its side, pinned down by Set. Nephthys slowly thudded up towards its massive head, then took Sobek's head in her jaws and savagely jerked it to the side with a vicious _snap._ The Spinosaurus stilled and died, its hollow shell of a body no longer a threat.

Nephthys raised her head and let loose a roar of both success and loss. She keened out the news of her triumph and her anguish for the son she would never see again.

* * *

"That lady you called, who is she? How do you know that she can help us?"

Alan Grant glanced to his side to see Eric keeping pace with him. The elder Kirbys were trailing slightly behind, the two adults acting like love struck teenagers. Eric was as vigilant as ever, occasionally glancing behind his shoulder to check on his parents. Alan was worried about him. As soon as the Rexes defeated "Sobek," as Eric insisted on calling him, the boy had hustled them away from the river and through the jungle until he found a tree that he had declared to be "suitable." He had insisted that everyone else climb up before him, watching the dark woods carefully as he clutched his raptor claw in one hand and his flare in the other. That night, neither of them had slept. Eric had flat out refused, instead electing to watch the water slogged jungle as he held his weapons tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. Alan hadn't been able to sleep, lost in the sounds of Tim and Lex's long ago screams. A part of him couldn't help but be worried that Eric would join him in a mutual fear of storms once they escaped. As he watched the boy, he could read the sheer terror in the tightness of his face and for the thousandth time, he cursed InGen for making troodons. Paul and Amanda had been completely puzzled by their behavior, but Eric had refused to speak that night and eventually, they drifted off.

"She was the one person that I could always count on; I owe her a lot," the professor responded. He could tell that the boy wasn't totally convinced that anyone was coming, but Alan didn't blame him. He didn't know how stubborn Ellie could be. "Although I don't think I ever told her that."

"You should. When you're stuck in a place like this… You don't want to leave anything unsaid," he replied with a regretful glance towards his parents.

"You worried about your parents?"

Eric snorted. "Do you think I can forbid them from ever leaving the water truck?"

Alan laughed. Eric…. didn't look like he was joking. "Your parents will be fine, Eric. It seems like they're getting along now." To say they were "getting along" would be an understatement. The two divorcees looked like they were about to ask Dr. Grant to officiate a whirlwind wedding right on Isla Sorna.

"I've never seen them act like this. I mean, there were sometimes that they weren't arguing or upset with each other, but it was never like this."

Alan glanced at his young companion curiously. "If they got back together, would you be happy about it?"

Eric thought pensively for a long moment before responding. "I want them to be happy," he finally said. "And it'd be really great if that was with each other. I mean, it'd be nice to be all together again. I'd like to see them both everyday and not have to worry about them arguing or accidently setting cars on fire."

The paleontologist glanced at him in alarm and decided it was one of those things he'd really rather not know. Suddenly, he became aware of Eric sending long looks at each landmark they passed, mouthing something to himself. "What are you doing?"

Eric flushed red. "I'm trying to memorize everything so that I can add it to my map. InGen had written distances between some of their structures, so from that I can calculate that we're going around two and a half miles per hour. I can tell from the sun that we've been walking for around four hours, so that means we're about ten miles from the river. If I add this to my map, it can help us figure out where we are and I can find the safest route back to my water truck."

Alan shook his head, at this point unsurprised at anything the boy came up with. Suddenly, he heard it. "Hear that?"

Listening intently, Eric cried, "The ocean!"

Quickly, the group rushed towards the noise, desperate to finally reach the shore. Suddenly, Eric skidded to a stop, throwing out his arm to halt Dr. Grant.

A velociraptor came out of the brush, then another one, and another, until an entire pack was flooding into the clearing.

They were surrounded.

* * *

Eric should have seen the signs. He had been so caught up in finally getting to the stupid coast, so that they could set up a signal and start heading back towards shelter where it was safe. He was so busy trying to figure out where they were and what was the safest way back that he hadn't seen a single sign that they were being hunted.

It was mistakes like these that got people killed.

And at this moment, it seemed very likely that it _would_ get them killed.

"They want the eggs," Dr. Grant breathed. "Otherwise we'd be dead already. Everybody get down; they're challenging us."

Slowly, Eric lowered himself to the ground, his eyes darting around for a distraction, a break in their ranks, _something_ he could exploit. The red streaked alpha walked up to his mother, letting loose a hiss. Eric's heart dropped. He _recognized_ that sound. Once, on his first few weeks on the island, he had noticed the signs of a fight between predator and prey and had climbed a tree just before the velociraptors surrounded an unfortunate animal in the clearing below. They hadn't noticed Eric, so he had gotten a perfect view as expertly killed the poor creature. When they were feeding, however, he witnessed a confrontation between the pack members. One raptor had stolen a large, bloody chunk of meat from another. The offended raptor had made the exact same noise as Rose did now, an accusation and a challenge all in one.

 _Thief._

Rose slowly extended her head towards his mom, her teeth dangerously glinting in the sunlight. "She thinks you stole the eggs," Dr. Grant whispered.

"Get behind me," his dad told his mother, trying to move forward. Rose noticed the movement and snapped at him threateningly. Her attention fixed on his father, she got closer and closer, her inborn weapons apparent.

" _Rose,_ _**no**_ ," Eric said before he could stop himself.

The alpha's attention shot to Eric, and they all saw the thought glinting in her primordial gaze. _Recognition._

"She knows you," Alan breathed.

"We have a complicated relationship," Eric acknowledged lowly.

To say their relationship was " _complicated"_ was the understatement of the century. He had had more interaction with this pack than any other, thanks to their territories (and yes, Eric very much considered his water truck to be _his_ territory) close proximity. At first, Rose's pack had tried their hardest to kill Eric. They had launched attack after attack on him, but through a variety of creative escapes (which involved gas grenades, trees, file cabinets, flares, a stapler, a mini fridge, and on one memorable occasion jumping off a small cliff to the water below) Eric always managed to survive their encounters. Eventually, they had stopped trying _as hard_ to kill him. Eric had been puzzled, until he came to a realization when the raptors abandoned him in a tree after only a few half-hearted leaps to his perch. They were _amused_ by him. They found his inventive solutions entertaining, and had entered into a strange sort of association. The raptors were the dangerous predators he couldn't help but admire; he was the unusually intelligent prey that always managed to evade them. They would still kill him if they had the chance, of course, but they were having too much fun to devote all their energy to hunting him. So they had begun a strange sort of game, one with very high stakes. They attacked, and Eric escaped, and they would keep doing this for as long as Eric managed to win the game (and if he lost, it meant that he was dead). Then, the troodon attack happened, and their relationship had somehow become even weirder.

Rose stepped towards him, letting loose a strange barking noise he didn't recognize, followed by a trilling sound that Eric was relatively certain was what the velociraptors called him. Several of the other raptors stepped forward in interest, including the one-clawed Nemesis (Eric had finally decided to name the raptor that saved him from the troodon after the Greek goddess of revenge), only to stop when Rose snapped at them. She looked _pissed._ Eric could hear the other raptors chattering, the trilling sound being repeated amongst their conversations.

Eric had to force himself to calm down. Yes, he was fully aware just how intelligent they were, but it was a bit much to think that they were _gossiping_ about him (or so he tried to tell himself).

Rose snapped at him again, drawing everyone's attention to the puzzled boy. The raptors looked interested, as if they were wondering how he'd get out of this one, and his companions looked like they were about to throw themselves between him and the peeved predator, no matter the consequences. Eric's mind was racing, trying to figure this out before someone ended up dead. "She thinks mom stole the eggs," he whispered. "Mom has to be the one to return them." Eric was fully aware this was not a solution. They could return what was stolen, but then what? Hope that the velociraptors found him amusing enough not to kill them? How could they possibly stop them from just killing them all in revenge?

"Give. Me. The eggs," his mother hissed.

Carefully, Dr. Grant opened Billy's bag and took out the delicate white ovals. The moment the raptors saw them, they began letting loose loud, echoing calls. Slowly, he passed them over to a nervous Amanda Kirby as Rose began to bite out challenges. "Do it mom," Eric whispered.

She carefully set them in the sand and pushed them towards the apex predators. Without warning, the haunting call of a velociraptor sounded next to Eric's ear. His heart almost stopped. He knew this sound; it was an insult, a challenge. He glanced over, only to see Dr. Grant playing a pale bone-like instrument. Eric could have groaned. Of all the sounds, did it have to be _that one_ he played?

His father took notice of the thoroughly offended looks the raptors were shooting them. "No. No, no, no. Call for help."

Hesitantly, Alan began to let loose the breathy, rolling sound of their distress calls. Several of the very confused pack members stepped forward, only to be stopped by an aggravated Rose. She chattered to the others, letting loose orders to her subordinates. Suddenly, the raptors began to retreat from the clearing. Rose and Nemesis stepped forward, each taking an egg in their mouth. Rose shot Eric a stern, almost chastising look before trotting into the woods, as if she was telling him that he should keep better company.

Well, that was weird.

Then, a noise caught all of their attentions. It was a noise Eric had never thought he would hear, a noise he had given up on hearing three days after landing on Isla Sorna.

"That's a helicopter," his dad said.

Quickly, they all rose to their feet and ran to the beach, praying they wouldn't miss their only hope of rescue. On the shore there was a single man in a suit, holding a megaphone. The man raised the device to his lips and said, "Dr. Grant? Dr. Alan Grant?"

Eric was completely and utterly fed up with people that thought it was alright to shout on this island. They all ran forward, his parents shouting in unison, "That's a very bad idea!"

However, they all froze in shock as armed vehicles and helicopters landed on the beach. Whoever this Ellie was, Eric officially loved her. Seriously, he would name his firstborn child after her for getting them off of this island. "Wow," Eric breathed as heavily armed soldiers poured onto the beach towards them. It was quite possibly the most amazing thing he had ever seen. "You have to thank her now! She sent the Navy and the Marines!"

"God bless you, Ellie," Alan responded.

The castaways were quickly rushed onto a helicopter by the megaphone guy. "Dr. Grant," he shouted over the blades, "Is this man with you?"

"What?" he asked in confusion.

Eric glanced over, a relieved grin forming on his face. _Billy was alive._ He had survived; Eric hadn't killed him.

Faintly, he could hear the heavily drugged Billy say, "I rescued your hat." The suited man pulled Alan from his side while several soldiers filed into the helicopter. They all strapped themselves into their seat as the _beat beat beat_ of the blades quickened, bringing the chopper into the air.

Eric looked on in surprise as three pteranodons flew past them, towards the mainland. "Dr. Grant, look! Where do you think they're going?"

"I don't know maybe they're just looking for new nesting ground. It's a whole new world for them."

"As long as they don't nest in Enid, Oklahoma," groaned his mother.

Eric smiled as his parents glanced at one another, looking more in love than he had ever seen them. Things were better than it had been for the last two months. His parents loved each other, they were all safe, and he was finally leaving Sorna.

 _He was actually leaving that Isla Sorna._

Eric started to laugh. He couldn't help it; it was either laugh or cry. "I never thought I'd actually get off of there," he said in response to Alan's questioning look.

"How long were you all on there?" one of the soldiers yelled.

"Three days," Dr. Grant sighed, gesturing to himself and the elder Kirbys. Then, he pointed at Eric. "Eight weeks."

"Eight weeks?!"

Eric ignored the shocked soldier. "What do you think will happen to the island, Dr. Grant?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe the government will let people on to study the animals."

"Either that, or they'll firebomb it back to the Stone Age," chimed in his dad.

"I would completely support that," responded his mom.

Eric looked back to the island that had been his entire world for the past two months. He thought of Rose and the troodons and Toto and Echo. It had been a place of dreams and nightmares for him; it had been both good and bad. "I hope they don't," he decided. "I hope they just leave it alone."

"So do I," agreed Dr. Grant. "So do I."

* * *

 **Finally done! I swear, I wrote over half of this in like two days, the second I got a chance. So, we have finally reached that fun chapter where we find out why I named the story what I named it. This fic was born when I decided to binge watch the Jurassic Park movies over Christmas break from school. I saw that scene and it made me wonder what Eric did after he got off. He's an astronaut, but isn't that relative? I mean, it's hard to get more astronauty than living on Isla Sorna alone for eight weeks, so wouldn't everything else seem less astronauty in comparison? I suppose he could become an actual astronaut, but I couldn't see him doing that. Then, I watched Jurassic World. Owen Grady is the biggest astronaut that ever lived. He was enlisted in the Navy, is an undisputed expert on dinosaurs, became the head velociraptor trainer for Jurassic World, jumps in the enclosure with said raptors, rides on a** _ **motorcycle**_ **with previously mentioned raptors, and isn't afraid to tell the people who sign his paycheck where to shove it when they are being idiots. All I could think was: "... Eric Kirby I have found you." Which proves I should binge watch movies more, I get my best ideas then. So I named this fic in honor of the scene that inspired it.**

 **Only a few changes to the plot this chapter. I wanted Billy and Eric to actually know each other before the big rescue, and I doubted they would just leave the door to the super dangerous pteranodon enclosure open, so I had them search for a key. Eric grabbed the bone to fight of the hatchlings, for reasons that will be explained two chapters from now.**

 **I have the layout for the chapters planned out, by the way. Two chapters for the immediate aftermath, as in when they land in Costa Rica, two chapters for after they are back in America, and then we have the chapter where he finally becomes Owen Grady. Get excited, people!**

 **Also, apologies to** icanhascamaro, **who mentioned that he/she thought that the ceratosaur was under used. Putting a more in depth encounter with it didn't fit in with the flow of the chapter, but I am planning on it having a bigger part in Jurassic World part of the plot.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to all the amazing people who followed, favorited, and reviewed! Special thanks to** Guest, bunny's pumpkin patch, **my "brain twin" (Yes! I'm not the only one that sees Owen as Eric!)** AzarDarkstar, Guest, Apache Thunderbird, Countdown, LightningScar, **and** Chaotician **for their fantastic reviews! It's honestly embarrassing how many times I read them. Seriously, if you need a good deed for the day, review a story (preferably mine). You have no idea how much authors appreciate it.**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Eight:** The Fall of InGen (Or: In Which Eric is Vindictive, Alan is Amused, and it is a Good, Scandalous Day for Reporters Everywhere)

As the chopper set down on the landing pad, Eric couldn't help but be nervous. They were at a hospital. According to the pilots, they had received orders to immediately take them to the nearest medical center for treatment. Eric wasn't worried by this fact. After all, they certainly needed medical attention. No, he was worried by the news that the pilots had received halfway to the mainland. Apparently the news that the famous Dr. Alan Grant had somehow found himself on one of the "damned dinosaur islands" that he had sworn never to set foot on had leaked to the public. Members of the press had already swarmed the landing pad and refused to leave. Normally, the police would have just forced them out of the building, but InGen was interfering. Apparently they wanted to "set the record straight" (meaning: lie), and had allowed the reporters to stay. Some security specialist for InGen was there along with one of their many lawyers to give the report the moment the chopper touched down.

So yes, Eric was very nervous about leaving the helicopter. After all, he hadn't had any human interaction for eight weeks until he met Dr. Grant _three days ago_. How was he supposed to handle an entire crowd?

When the copter safely say down on the pad, Eric remained in his seat. He watched as they wheeled Billy out of the aircraft, nervously turning his raptor claw over in his hands. He could see the flashes of the cameras and hear the chattering of reporters. Instead of leaving, he somewhat shakily asked if he could speak to Dr. Grant alone for a moment. If there was anyone that could help him, it would be Alan. He had already dealt with something like this before, when the Jurassic Park Incident leaked. The rest of the crew filed out, his parents lingering the longest, until only Eric and Alan remained in their seats.

"Eric… It's going to be okay."

Eric snorted. In his experience, things did not just end up "okay." "How… How did you do it? Deal with all those people when you got off of Nublar?"

"Well… I had help. I had Ellie and Malcolm to talk to. And you'll have help too. Your parents will be there for you, and so will Billy and I."

Eric nodded, tightening his hands on the claw. The flashes were getting more frequent, he realized. They should probably get out there before the crowd overwhelmed his parents.

"Eric… You know we're at a hospital."

Eric stared at the paleontologist. What had caused this sudden transformation into Captain Obvious? "So?"

"Well, I think it's safe to say that they have better treatment options here as opposed to leaves you plucked off a bush."

"My side is fine," he replied immediately.

No, his side was most certainly not fine.

It would be accurate to say that his side _was_ fine. Three days ago, it had barely been bothering him. Then, he started getting kamikazed by pteranodons and restrained by paleontologists, and his previously fine side was suddenly most definitely _not_ fine. There was a sharp pain that shot up the right half of his body every time he breathed, and Eric was fairly certain some of the more agitated cuts had started to bleed sluggishly. Still, he couldn't bring himself to admit that fact, to Dr. Grant or anyone else. Right now, he had much bigger problems to worry about. (And, if he was being totally honest, he still didn't want his parents to find out about this.)

"I'm just saying, it couldn't hurt to have it checked out."

Actually, it could hurt. It could hurt his parents when they realize just what happened on that island; it could hurt _Eric,_ who had never, _ever_ wanted _anyone_ to find out about that desperate struggle in the dark he had all those weeks ago.

 _(Please God, let me live.)_

Eric shook his head clear of the memories. He needed to focus for this next part. Despite his nervousness, Eric had realized when he first heard about the reporters that he may never have a better chance for something he had been planning since Dr. Grant landed. That night, after the paleontologist fell asleep, he had realized something: While he may not hate dinosaurs, he most certainly hated the idiots that created and lost control of said dinosaurs, and then failed to send a rescue when someone was inevitably stranded there.

So, of course, he made a plan.

And right now, with likely the entire world watching (it was always amazing how much coverage stories about dinosaurs got), Eric could do it. InGen would never be able to cover it up, not with so many people seeing it. Determinately, he stood up. "We should get this over with," he told Dr. Grant, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Uh, Eric? You might want to get rid of the raptor claw first."

Eric glanced down at his hand in surprise. He had had it for so long, he rarely noticed when it was in his hand anymore. He did, however, notice when it was _out_ of his hand. The reporters could deal; he wasn't about to let go of one of the only things that gave him a modicum of a feeling of security. "Nah, I'm good."

Shaking his head, Alan stood up next to him. They made quite a pair. Two people, one a grown man, the other just a kid, both covered in sweat, grime, and blood, their clothes in tatters, the boy clutching a razor sharp sickle claw while the man settled his cowboy hat on his head, about to walk out together into the fray.

InGen wouldn't know what hit them.

As calmly as possible, Eric slid open the door and they both exited the aircraft. Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed their presence yet. Instead, the entire press corps was focused on the man in the three piece suit talking at the other end of the roof, and the short, beady-eyed man standing behind him with a rifle. There were several agitated policemen scattered across the roof, but they were in the minority. The suited man seemed to be holding up the procession of the troops along with his enraged-looking parents, while the other man smirked behind him.

Eric hated them instantly.

Then, his mind registered what the man was saying, and he realized he was completely justified in his hate.

"...son's unfortunate demise in a boating accident many miles away from Isla Sorna, completely unrelated to the island's inhabitants. Despite informing them that there was no possible way their son was on Sorna, they refused to listen to the facts and obviously departed on an ill-planned escapade that resulted in several injuries and deaths. While they undoubtedly felt great sorrow for their son's fate, that does not excuse their reckless actions, and we will be dealing with them appropriately."

How _freaking_ _ **dare**_ _he?_

Obviously, InGen had managed to cover up the fact that it was a dinosaur that caused the boat crash, but that wasn't what he was really angry about. No, he was angry that his parents, the people that loved him and who he loved, the people that had come for him while InGen had _sat on their asses,_ were being painted as delusional and desperate criminals.

Eric wanted to punch those stupid smirks right off their faces.

Oh, well. He'd just have to settle for causing as much damage to their reputation as humanly possible.

Incensed, Eric snapped, "Don't talk about my parents like that! They're ten times the people you'll ever be!"

While he was on Sorna, Eric had always been surprised at how uniform the reaction to his smoke grenades was. Whether it was raptors or dilophosaurus, they all acted the exact same way. First, they all snapped their attention to the foreign object. For a moment, they would all stare at it dumbly, until the smoke began to pour out in earnest. Then, the dinosaurs be whipped up into a frenzy, trying to figure out what on earth was going on.

It was fascinating how similar the reaction to Eric's continued existence was.

 _Every single person_ on that rooftop spun around to face them. For a long moment, they just stared at Eric. Eric stared back. He felt Alan tensing beside him and saw the tiny red dots on their cameras informing him that this was in fact being broadcasted live, and all he could think was, _Well… This is awkward._

Dr. Grant chose this moment to cut in. Glaring at the lawyer, he coldly stated, "This is Eric Kirby. He spent the last eight weeks on Isla Sorna, _completely alone_ , after his boat was _attacked_ off the _coast_ of the island. It wasn't until his parentscame to rescue him that he had any hope of getting off."

Chaos ensued. Cameras started flashing and the journalists started screaming questions that Eric could in no way understand, let alone answer. He could see his parents in the melee, torn between proud and worried, trying to get to him. Dr. Grant stepped in front of him protectively, when suddenly someone broke through the crowd. A tall, pretty blonde woman pushed through the reporters and launched herself at Alan, throwing her arms around his neck. "Alan, thank God."

The professor visibly softened at her arrival. "Hey, Ellie," he breathed. "Thanks for the save back there."

As if a spell had been cast, the press quieted down again. They all faded into the background, not wanting to miss a single newsworthy moment. Eric ignored them. After meeting the mass of people, he felt more annoyed than nervous. The swarming, frantic group almost reminded him of compys fighting over a kill.

Absently, he wondered if he should be worried about the fact that he felt comforted by that comparison.

The lady pulled back, and Eric could finally see her face. Wow. It was embarrassing that he hadn't put together her identity before now. Honestly, how many Ellie's were closely associated with Dr. Alan Grant? In his defence, he had had bigger problems at the time (See: the Spinosaurus trying to eat him).

"Ellie, this is Eric. Eric, this is Dr. Ellie Degler."

"It's nice to meet you, ma'am. I can't thank you enough for sending in the rescue."

"I'm just glad you're all okay. What was happening when you called? I could barely understand a word."

Alan groaned. "That would be the Spinosaurus attack."

"Spinosaurus?" cut in a dark-haired, female reporter from the front of the crowd. "I don't recall that from InGen's list."

"That's because it wasn't on InGen's List," Alan replied, renewing his glare on the lawyer. "They didn't disclose it to the public."

That sent the press into a frenzy once more, much to InGen's representative's dismay. When Eric saw his face, he had to restrain himself from laughing. The man looked like he had just been sucker punched; his mouth was opening and closing uselessly, as if he were a fish out of water. "This is nothing but the tales of a disgruntled man," he finally spluttered. "InGen has supplied the public with a complete list of their creations."

Dr. Grant looked like he really _would_ punch the man. He took several steps forward, anger written on his face, until Eric put a hand on his arm. The professor shot him a puzzled look, only for him to send a reassuring one back. _Trust me._ Calming himself, he faced the lawyer. He would likely never get a better opening to spring his plan. "I'm certain InGen just forgot to include them," he deadpanned. "After all, it's so easy to misplace classified files. In a filing cabinet that had eight consecutive locks." Then, he slipped his hand into his bag and pulled out a large Ziplock, filled with three thick manilla folders. "So I took the liberty of bringing the files on the _three_ undisclosed dinosaurs with me."

The night that he realized that he despised InGen was the night that he realized he didn't have to destroy them; they had already dug their own grave. Say what you will about the United States of America, but they get uniformly _pissed_ when someone brings a giant, prehistoric killing machine onto US soil and promptly loses control of it, allowing said killing machine to run rampant through a major metropolitan area. If it had been a foreign nation that brought had the Rex over, they would have declared war. Instead, it was a private company, and the List had been only one of many of the mandates it set forward in reparation. And by violating the _court ordered_ requirements, InGen had provided him with the perfect way to express his _displeasure._

It was even legal.

Dr. Grant looked like he wanted to burst out laughing. "You brought the files with you."

Eric stared at him, and said with an _absolutely straight face_ , "It was the neighborly thing to do."

Ellie grabbed the Ziplock and slipped out the files, flipping through them. "I think the State Department would be very interested in these, Mr. Regis," she told the lawyer. "Especially seeing as they have both Dr. Henry Wu and John Hammond's signature on them."

Regis looked like he wanted to _explode._ The beady-eyed, armed man behind him… didn't. He just stared at Eric, like the boy was a puzzle he wanted to solve.

Somehow, that made Eric more nervous than the reporters had.

Deciding that they had had enough, Dr. Grant slung his arm protectively over Eric's shoulder before beginning to push through the crowd. Several of the police officers and troops came to help, forcing a path in the persistent journalists. They crowded in despite the human barrier, flashing their ridiculous cameras and screaming questions. Eric tightened his hand around his raptor claw, trying to clamp down on the panic racing up his throat. This was all _too much._ It was an attack, a pack that was bearing down on him, hunting for his blood. He needed to run. He needed to find a tree that he could hide in. He needed to do _something,_ because if he stayed like this much longer he risked stabbing someone.

The group tumbled into the hospital, the double doors sliding shut behind them, and suddenly, Eric could breathe. Alan, however, kept going. He walked around the corner, tugging Eric along beside him, until they could no longer hear the roar of the crowd. Dr. Grant, Eric, and Ellie leaned against the wall in relief. Suddenly, Alan started laughing.

"What?" Eric asked.

"I thought after throwing smoke grenades at raptors, beaning dilophosaurus in the head with rocks, and apparently having a 'complicated relationship' with a velociraptor pack, there wasn't anything else you could do to surprise me." He laughed harder. "I was wrong."

Eric shifted uncomfortably. "Well, they deserved it," he defended. "Two out of the three classified dinosaurs tried to eat me, and the third may be the reason I landed there in the first place. Being vindictive is totally justified."

"Where's Billy?" Alan asked, suddenly serious.

"In surgery," Ellie explained, speaking up. "They managed to get him through the crowd before Regis hijacked the whole thing." She glanced at the doctor, humor in her eyes. "He wanted to get a statement out before you showed up, Alan. You've never been exactly shy about your opinions on InGen; he wanted to get their propaganda out before you started to share your side of the story. Apparently Regis was one of the people who spoke with your parents, Eric; he recognized them the moment he saw them and started telling tales. He probably got the surprise of his life when he saw you with them."

"Where are my parents?" Eric questioned, urgent. The only times he had been separated from them since they found each other was during the pteranodon and Spinosaurus attacks. And now, they had been divided by the crowds. Quickly, Eric spun on his heel and walked around the corner…. only to crash into his parents. They grabbed him into a hug, worried, questioning him rapidly if he had been harmed in the crowd.

After he reassured them, his dad asked, "Where did you get those files?"

Eric shrugged. "They were easily accessible to anyone with a fire axe."

"A _fire axe?"_ his mom questioned, alarmed.

"Er…" Eric glanced at Alan in desperation. _Help._

"I'm sorry, could someone fill me in on what's happened these past few days?" Ellie cut in. "I'm operating on limited information here."

Dr. Grant had only just begun regaling her with a tale filled with peril, dinosaurs, and T-Rex urine when they were interrupted. A frazzled, dark haired women burst around the corner before stumbling to a stop right in front of them. She took in the group's filthy clothes and bloody exterior and said, "I'm Dr. Carter. I imagine you are the group that just got off Sorna? I'll need you to come with me; we have a room set up to deal with your injuries." Surprisingly enough, the woman had an American accent. Which was probably why she had been sent to deal with them, Eric surmised. While she probably wasn't the only English speaker on the staff, it was most likely her first language. Less chance of communication errors.

When they began to follow the woman, Eric trailed back until he was aligned with Dr. Degler. "Who was that man?" he asked. "The one behind Regis."

"That was an InGen security specialist, Vic Hoskins. His team took care of the pteranodons before they hit the mainland. Why?"

"No reason," he murmured. Still, he couldn't shake the strange feeling of those gray, beady eyes watching his every move.

* * *

Eric had the feeling that no one really knew what to do with them. In the corner of the hastily prepped room there stood two uncertain-looking police officers, neither of which had made any attempt to arrest anyone, thankfully. They were conversing lowly in Spanish, very little of which Eric could hear, and even less that he could understand. His school had mandatory Spanish classes, but Eric hadn't been very good at the vocal part. He could read and write decently, but when it came to comprehending it when it was spoken he flopped. All he had been able to get was something like _instrucciones nuevo._ Whatever these instructions were, he hoped that it wasn't to arrest his parents.

The doctors weren't faring much better. After all, it wasn't everyday you got patients from a dinosaur inhabited island.

"Was anyone bitten?" the American woman from earlier called out. "We need to take care of the wound and make sure that the animal wasn't carrying any diseases when it bit you."

Dr. Grant wasn't being _at all_ subtle with his expectant stare. Awkwardly, Eric raised his hand. "I, uh, may have gotten a few."

The woman rushed over. "Where?"

"The pteranodons got in a few slashes on my arms," he explained, twisting it so that she could see.

Alan's expectant stare had turned into a glare. And worse, his parents were starting to notice. They were glancing between the two of them, a puzzled and worried look on their face.

"A compy bit me here a while ago, but it already healed," he continued, pointing at the side of his wrist.

"We'll still want to take some blood samples, make sure there aren't any after effects. Anywhere else?"

It was amazing the guilt trip your childhood idol could give you. Honestly, the force of his gaze alone was almost enough to break Eric. Then, his mom let loose a worried, "Eric?" and he broke down.

"Here," he sighed in defeat, resting his hand on his side.

Slowly, he rolled up the bottom of his tattered red shirt to reveal a filthy bandage. He glanced up at his parents in trepidation before beginning to unroll it. His mother and father had been staring at him, worried, before he unwound the gauze. The moment he uncovered the wound, they let loose horrified gasps. Eric refused to look up; he didn't want to see anyone's face, the pity there that he had _never wanted._

That looked a whole lot worse than it had the last time he had uncovered it.

For one thing, a thin layer of grime had managed to penetrate the protective bandage and covered his side. While most of the freshly healed skin had managed to stay together, some of the worst gashes had torn open. Dark purple bruises had spread across his skin, discoloring the flesh.

Well, that explained why his side was hurting again.

"Okay," Dr. Carter said, taking control. "We're going to need to clean that right away." She guided him over to an exam table before snapping on a pair of plastic gloves and gathering supplies. Quickly, she barked out orders in Spanish to the other medical staff in the room. "They're going to start working on your injuries while I focus on Eric," she explained to the rest of the group.

His parents didn't move. They just stood there, ghostly pale, staring at his side. "Eric… What happened?" his mom whispered.

"Look, it's… It's not that bad," he stammered. "It just looks bad because of everything that happened these past couple days. I mean, really… It's… It's fine."

"It doesn't look fine," Dr. Grant said. "It looks a lot worse. Why didn't you say something?"

"Worse?" his dad broke in. "You knew about this? Why didn't you tell us? We're his parents!"

"He wanted to tell you," Eric said quickly. "I asked him not to."

His parents stared at him. "Why?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't want to worry you, and then everything was happening and there was never a good moment to bring it up."

"Mr and Mrs Kirby, you really do need to get checked," Dr. Carter broke in. "I promise you we will get your son the best treatment possible. Now," she said, turning back towards the uncomfortable boy. "Do you know what bit you?"

Eric shifted nervously again. "Dr. Degler, do you still have those files? It should be the bottom folder."

Her eyebrows shot up as she read the file. "Troodon pectinodon?"

"That's the one."

"It's _poisonous."_

"I kinda figured that out, yeah."

"I want to see the file," his mom stated determinedly.

"Mom-"

"I want to see it." Her tone brokered no argument. Ellie handed over the folder while Eric reluctantly watched. She took it with shaking hands, his father reading over her shoulder. Slowly, she sat down, a devastated look on her face.

"Mom…" Eric whispered. _He didn't know what to do._ This was exactly why he had never wanted his parents to find out. Why he had never wanted them to know. "It… It wasn't that bad." God, he felt useless. He was stuck sitting there while his mom looked as if she wanted to cry, and he couldn't think of a single thing he could say to make this better.

Which is one of the reasons he was surprised when Dr. Carter spoke up. "Mrs. Kirby," she evenly stated. "I can't begin to imagine what you and your family have been through. What your _son_ has been through. And I can't change what happened either; no one can. But what we can do is try and deal with the aftermath in the best way possible, and I need that file to do it."

Slowly, his mother nodded. She passed over the ragged folder to the woman, who read it with the detached eye of a career medical doctor. Crisply, Carter nodded and moved back towards Eric. "All right Eric, I'm going to start cleaning your wound now," she stated, snapping on a pair of blue plastic gloves. "I assume you used the antivenom stated in the file to counteract the toxin. Do you have any samples of it left? I'd like to send it for tests along with your blood samples; we can make sure the chemicals won't have any negative after effects that way."

Eric nodded. "In my bag."

The group spent a few awkward minutes in silence as the medical staff took care of their minor (and not so minor) injuries. Blood samples were taken from them and sent off by Dr. Carter before she spoke again. "We'll need to get x-rays taken of your side, Eric; the bruising is too extensive. In the meantime, I'll see if I can get you all access to some showers."

She spun around, about to exit the room, when she was stopped by the officers. After a quick, heated exchange that Eric could in no way follow, she turned back towards them. "Officers Díaz and Ordóñez need to speak with you all for a moment." She shot a _don't-distress-my-patients_ warning look towards the men before continuing out.

The two men stepped forward, and Díaz stated, in heavily accented English, "We need to check your bags to make sure you did not take any biological materials off of the Isla."

Eric idly supposed it was a good thing that Billy had never gotten the eggs off; even if he had made it past the raptors, he would have been arrested on shore. The boy watched as they questioned each adult about the contents of their bag before moving onto Eric.

"What is this?"

Eric glanced at the small, cloudy vial the man held in his hand. Really, people should stop asking that question. Still Eric could understand the confusion; Alan had accidently dropped his vial while trying to frighten away compys on Sorna, so the officer hadn't exactly seen the fluid before. "T-Rex pee," he stated flatly.

" _¿Qué?"_

The discussion had gone downhill from there.

"And this?" The officer was looking at the plastic baggie holding his journal as if it would bite his hand off. In Eric's defense, everything he had had in his bag had seemed completely practical to him. But apparently to contemporary society a stapler did not count as weaponry and duct tape was not a medical supply.

"That's _private,"_ Eric ground out. The only thing that had been confiscated so far was the urine, but Eric didn't want to take any chances with this. That journal had made it through Sorna with him; the only things he had had for longer was the raptor claw and the clothes on his back. He was _not_ about to loose it to a jumped up customs agent.

Eventually, the man surrendered the notebook to Eric without further trouble. They were about to leave when Eric stopped them. "Sir? What happens now?"

At their puzzled looks, Eric found he had to elucidate. "To my parents and I."

The men stayed confused. "We… are not certain. The press is making things difficult to tell."

Eric wasn't entirely sure how they were making things "difficult," and if these difficulties were even working in their favor. However, he did know that if it was keeping his parents out of prison, he hoped that they continued. No matter the price.

* * *

Amanda Kirby still remembered the day that her son had been born.

The day had been heralded by pouring rain and crashing thunder. One Wednesday morning, Amanda had been at the supermarket when her water had burst in the dairy aisle. Her precious son had come into the world red-faced and screaming exactly one month early. The doctors had called him premature; Paul had dubbed him ready to take on the world.

Honestly, Amanda had found herself agreeing with Paul more than the doctors.

Because no matter which medical degrees they had or how much experience they had under their belts, they would never be Eric's mother. She had held that too small, warm little body in her arms and she had _known_ that her little piece of Heaven was a fighter. And she was okay with that; Eric could take the world by storm, and she would help him every step of the way. And as she held that tiny, perfect little boy in her arms on that stormy day, Amanda Kirby had made herself a promise.

No matter what it took, she would do _anything_ to protect her son.

Amanda hadn't been so arrogant to think she would be the perfect mother. On the contrary, she had foreseen many mistakes and made even more. That hadn't made her any less resolute in her vow, however. She _knew_ she couldn't protect him from the world. She _knew_ that one day, there would be something she just couldn't shield him from.

That didn't stop her from trying, though.

Eric had grown up stubborn and resourceful and absolutely _perfect._ It wasn't that he was flawless. On the contrary, his flaws were some of the things that made him so. Eric had a certain fire about him, a light, something that was a combination of Paul's stubbornness, her temper, and something that was uniquely _Eric_. Whenever she went out, Amanda couldn't help but pity the other moms. They had no idea what they were missing out on by not having Eric as their child.

(On a level, Amanda was well aware that most mothers felt such a way about their children, but she knew that she was right. Because Eric _really was_ so much more special and perfect than all those other children, and nothing could convince her otherwise.)

(And actually, she didn't pity those other moms. That would imply that she felt regret that they didn't have Eric as their son, and Amanda was much too happy about winning that particular lot in life to ever be upset about that.)

Amanda knew that in some ways, she had miserably failed in her vow. She hadn't been able to protect her son from his parents arguments, or their divorce. Her temper would get the best of her and she would just snap at Paul, and once the flurry of anger and screaming had ended she would be left with nothing but the memory of a stormy day, a too small body nestled in her arms, and a promise she had broken once more.

But as she stared at the x-ray in front of her, she realized that she had never failed in her oath quite so badly.

"...rib healed incorrectly while he recovered..."

Right, Dr. Carter was still talking. Still explaining the x-ray that had not only revealed the truth of her son's injury, but her complete failure at motherhood.

 _should have never let him go parasailing should have gone_ with _him parasailing should have left him with Paul he would have been_ safe _with Paul should have should have should have_ **didn't**

Apparently more damage had been done than Eric had originally suspected. The sheer force of the troodon's bite had broken one of his ribs, which had incorrectly healed during Eric's stay on Sorna. It wouldn't have been _as big_ of a problem if the recent attacks hadn't caused the already weak bone to fracture. If it broke again, its current position risked puncturing a lung.

"When was the last time you ate, Eric?"

Eric looked up at the doctor curiously. He was sitting between her and Paul, holding each of their hands for comfort. Amanda suspected he was comforting them rather than vice versa, and just didn't want to hurt their feelings. "What?"

"We'd like to rebreak the bone so that we can set it properly this time, but we'd have to operate to do it. You'd have to wait at least twenty-four hours after eating before we can put you under anesthesia."

"Well, I ate the night I found Dr. Grant… So, two days ago." Before Amanda could chastise him for neglecting himself, or chastise herself for not noticing that her own son hadn't eaten in days, he continued. "This operation… Is it absolutely necessary?"

The doctor looked at him, bewildered. "Yes, Eric, it is. This could lead to major problems if it's not healed correctly."

"Can we have a minute with our son, please?" Amanda broke in. She could always tell when Eric was hiding something, and right now, he was. He had been acting differently since Dr. Carter had mentioned surgery, but Amanda wasn't entirely certain as to why. This wouldn't have been the first time he had been operated on; he had had appendicitis when he was nine. Throughout this entire ordeal Eric had been undaunted, with not even the reporters causing him this much trouble. Why would he be acting strange now?

As soon as the woman left, Amanda turned to her son. "Eric, is something wrong?"

"I'm fine," he answered automatically.

She gave him the _look._ "Is this like how your side was 'fine?'"

"Eric, you know you can tell us anything," Paul continued. "There is nothing to worry about with this operation."

"It's not the operation, it's-" Eric broke off with a frustrated sigh. "It's nothing, everything's fine."

" _Eric,"_ Amanda stated firmly. "No, it's not. Nothing about what has happened is fine. And- and we're your _parents._ We're supposed to look out for you, not the other way around. So, if there's something wrong, you- you need to tell us."

For a long moment, Eric was silent. Then, he let out a small sigh and said, "I haven't slept since I found you guys."

"If you're tired, we can find a place for you to-"

"No, I don't want to sleep!" Eric snapped. "That's the _point._ I don't want to sleep, because if I do I could wake up and find out this was all a dream! I could wake up in my water truck completely… completely alone," he finished quietly. "That's why I don't want to do the operation. If they put me under anesthesia, I'll have to go to sleep."

For a moment, everyone was silent. Amanda looked at her son, sitting there trying to hold the pieces of his composure together, and suddenly she was in a different hospital room, holding a small, vulnerable baby boy in her arms while she listened to the claps of thunder.

 _She had promised._

"Eric," she stated quietly. "Look at me. We are _together_ now. All of us. And we will never, ever loose each other again. And when you wake up, we will be here, because _nobody's_ going anywhere."

Eric finally looked up at her, looking hesitant and hopeful and trying _so, so hard_ to hold himself together. "Promise?"

 _Anything._

"I promise."

* * *

 **Okay, there wasn't that much about the legal implications of it all in this chapter. This chapter was more of a set up for next chapter, where we get to find out who gets in trouble for what. When I was trying to figure all the ramifications in my mind, I realized that in my universe, InGen would get royally screwed by keeping the Spinosaurus secret. They didn't have much explanation for the List in the movies, but I couldn't see the super secretive shadowy company just handing out lists of their creations like they're Halloween candy; I saw it more as a ticked off US government court ordering them after their Rex ate several of their citizens. Which means that if anyone had definitive proof of InGen violating those orders, InGen would be in massive trouble. So Eric finding the files was so that he could survive the troodon's bite and destroy a multibillion dollar conglomerate. Very important for every twelve year old's life.**

 **Yes,** Chaotician, **I had found out about Hoskins leading the team against the escaped pteranodons. Thanks for the reminder, though. As you can see, he is not in Canada while he does it. Here are several valid reasons for why:**

 **1) Those pteranodons are probably hungry. They did not actually manage to eat Billy, Eric, or the rest of the motley crew, and in actuality probably became even more hungry thanks to the energy they expended in the process. They have shown absolutely no qualms against the eating of humans, so in all likelihood would have tried to eat people the second they hit mainland, and would probably hang out near the food source instead of road tripping it to Canada.**

 **2) InGen probably would have found out that Ellie was sending in the troops to Isla Sorna. I imagine she would have blocked them from tagging along to the island itself, bet they probably would have still gone to Costa Rica at least. So they would have been there when the pteranodons showed, and it would be a lot less expensive to shoot them there as opposed to moving the operation to Canada.**

 **3) The US of A is probably still ticked about the Rex attack. They are not about to let dinosaurs go trapezing across US soil** _ **again**_ **. The pteranodons would have to fly 5,724 miles to get from Isla Sorna to Canada, crossing the US in the process. We know the government knows about them, because the Navy saw them leave the island. So, we can assume that they would have been gunned down by some government agency before they ever reached Canada.**

 **4)Even if the government hadn't gotten them, some farmer probably would have taken a double barrel shotgun to them the first time they tried to carry off cattle.**

 **5) Even if the farmers didn't get them, there are tons of big game hunters who would kill for a chance to take down a dinosaur. So, they still wouldn't have made it to Canada.**

 **6) InGen has probably had its reputation dragged through the mud thanks to its utter inability to keep dinosaurs from escaping. They are not about to let sleeping dogs lie until said dogs get to** _ **Canada. Which is**_ _ **5,724 miles away.**_

 **7) Once again, Eric does become Owen. How could I not orchestrate a meeting between him and Hoskins during JPIII? I find the idea of Hoskins not realizing that Owen is the twelve year old he met during the Isla Sorna Incident hilarious.**

 **There are more reasons, but those are the main ones. Okay, hopefully I'll get the next chapter out soon. Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks to all those who followed, favorited, and reviewed! Shout out to** bunny's pumpkin patch, Sava-chan, LightningScar, Apache Thunderbird, jadedquartz, quotes **for reviewing! In response to questions:**

LightningScar: **I actually looked into whether Eric would be able to run with the rib before I added it. People are capable of amazing things when helped along with adrenaline and all-consuming fear. Soldiers have been literally shot in the head (and I'm not talking about getting a graze on the forehead, I mean the bullet was still in their head) and they go on to finish** _ **several**_ **battles, not even complaining of pain. Mothers have lifted trucks off their trapped children. So Eric, who was operating on sheer adrenaline and very much didn't want to end up as a meal/dinosaur nest, would be able to run for his life.**

 **Also, I have just learned that** Sava-chan **also thought of Owen as Eric. That makes me,** AzarDarkstar, **and** Sava-chan. **Three of us. This is so officially a thing.**

 **On to the story!**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Nine:** The Super Deadly Dinosaur Island Survivors Club

Billy found that he had a lot of time to think lately.

This was mainly due to the fact that he was on "bed rest." Bed rest apparently translated to "getting confined to a tiny white room while doctors periodically showed up to poke him with needles."

Billy had a newfound hate for doctors.

He supposed it could be worse. He could be stuck in this room alone. When he finally gained consciousness, it was to a blank white ceiling. He had struggled into sitting position and turned his head, only to be greeted by the sight of a stunned Eric sitting on top of the covers of the neighboring bed. The boy was dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants (Billy would later discover this was due to the fact that he had flat out refused to stay in the hospital gown, claiming it was "impossible to run for his life in without flashing the entire hospital." This started the inevitable argument that Eric would not have to run for his life, but that battle was lost. Apparently the hospital reminded him too much of the abandoned InGen lab for him to ever be comfortable in, and he spent every second there on alert for passing velociraptors. While he was aware there was no dinosaurs there, his instincts were too deeply ingrained for him to stop). He had been holding a velociraptor claw loosely in his hands and stared at Billy like he was a ghost. After floundering for a few moments without saying anything, he eventually choked out, "Welcome to Quarantine. You and I are the only residents out of our merry little band of survivors, but none of us are allowed to leave. I'm planning a prison break, how do you feel about flying the coop the moment you're stable?"

They weren't actually in Quarantine.

Billy quickly came to realize that that was just what Eric had dubbed the room they had been assigned, when he wasn't calling it "Prison," or "the Bastille." Apparently they were the only ones in the group that had actually been bitten by a dinosaur, which had caused the doctors on the mainland to "flip out," in Eric's words. A dinosaur bite was evidently a big deal. Certain reptiles were fatal not through venom but through the incredibly high bacteria level in their mouths, which resulted in infection and death. The doctors had no idea if it was such a case with dinosaurs, causing them to be incredibly careful with the two victims. They had put the pair into a room where they were closely monitored every day, which included blood tests, check ups, and constant questioning by doctor and nurses. Eric's desperate argument that he had been attacked by poisonous, not infectious, animals several weeks ago did not save him from this fate. Apparently the doctors were still trying to figure out how his close brushes with death didn't kill him in the first place, and were unwilling to let the boy out of sight.

Luckily, they had figured out very quickly that the extremely officious nurses that had dubbed him to be a "miracle child" only served to make Eric uncomfortable, and had stopped sending them.

The rest of the group was still in the hospital, despite no longer needing treatment. The press had made it impossible for them to move to a hotel, even if someone could convince the Kirbys to stay in a different building than their son. In the end, the hospital had to corner off a section of the building and station a guard to keep out the persistent reporters. Alan, Ellie, and the Kirby parents had gotten a set of rooms separate from Eric and Billy, but the group ended up spending more time visiting in "Quarantine" than in their own rooms.

Despite the distractions provided by the others, Billy and Eric found themselves quickly becoming claustrophobic in the room. Billy was used to the outdoors. He liked the sun on his face and the wind in his hair, and the dull interior of the hospital had become suffocating. Eric, for his part, had gotten to the point that he was moments away from snapping. The building really was way too much like InGen's lab, a place where he was used to a state of constant emergency, watching for dinosaurs around every corner. He had made sure that he always spent as little time as possible on the premises, and staying in a place just like it was fraying his nerves to the breaking point. On Sorna, he had at least had his water truck where he could _kind of_ relax, but there was no such respite here.

So, when Billy had jokingly said that he was willing to try any escape plan Eric had formulated, he was surprised to learn that Eric actually had an escape plan. Several, in fact. Even more surprising, they _worked._

Billy had no idea how the kid had done it, but somehow he managed to turn off the monitors without my setting off an alarm, pilfer less conspicuous clothing, "borrow" a wheelchair for Billy, scribble a _Be back soon_ note, sneak past the guard, and get them both out of the building without anyone seeing. When Billy had questioned the fact that he actually planned out multiple escape routes, the young boy had just looked at him as if he were insane and calmly stated that you _always_ had to have more than one exit plan, in case your original one was blocked off.

At this point, Billy wouldn't be surprised if Eric adopted "Constant Vigilance," as his catchphrase, like Mad Eye Moody from _Harry Potter._

Still, they were out of that suffocating hospital and they were going to make the most of it. Using the contents of Billy's wallet to fund their expedition, they set out to explore.

Alan and Ellie caught up with them three hours later at a taco stand seven blocks away.

The hospital had not been amused; Alan and Ellie had been secretly amused, but refused to admit it; Billy and Eric had thought it was hilarious… Until the senior Kirbys got word that they had been found. They had been frantic, hugging Eric in relief and actually fighting back tears. The boy had looked so, _so_ guilty and had promised not to do it again. Then, he found out why exactly his parents were about to cry.

They were angry at Eric, _very_ angry. They were also very relieved, and not just at the fact that the two runaways had been found. Apparently they had seen Eric's return to his "escape artist" ways as a sign that he was recovering from his ordeal and returning to his old self. When the boy had heard that, he had looked… Billy wasn't exactly sure. But it certainly wasn't an emotion that he had expected to see on his face.

Which was precisely why Billy was grateful that he had this time to think.

Eric was asleep, thank goodness. The boy had always seemed to be up, not that that meant much. Throughout his recovery, Billy had become much more tired than usual and as consequence had slept more often; Eric could just naturally wake before him.

The longer Billy spent with the boy, the more of a mystery he seemed. When he first met him in the aviary, the child hadn't been what he had expected at all. He was tall for his age, and thin, but he wasn't at all what you'd expect for someone who survived Sorna; he looked too _normal._ But apparently, he was more than he appeared to be; after all, he had managed to save Alan's life. And, in a small way, Eric had saved Billy's life as well.

Billy hadn't thought when he jumped off of the bridge to the rescue Eric; he had just done it. He had seemed to be a good kid to Billy, and without a doubt he hadn't deserved to die, especially in such a horrific manner. Eric was just a kid, not even a teenager yet; he was too young to die (so was Billy, but he hadn't been paying attention to that little fact at the moment). So Billy hadn't thought. He just jumped.

Then, the pteranodons had him pinned down, and Billy had thought it was the end. He had fended off the attacks for as long as he could, but soon he was beaten down by the vicious animals and collapsed in the stream, where he laid bleeding, waiting for the end. As he watched the pteranodon rear back its head, about to finish him once in for all, he heard it, and more importantly, the pteranodon heard it as well.

Chirping. Shrieking, more like it. It was coming from nest above them, screaming out its owner's pain to the world, and Billy was reminded of a young boy standing on a tall rock column, wielding a long, pale bone as a weapon. And he realized what had happened.

Eric had nailed at least two of the baby pteranodons with his makeshift bludgeons, and they had been injured. Now, they were calling to their parents, pulling them away from Billy.

By the time he had figured it out, his attackers were already flying back towards their hatchlings, their prey forgotten. Billy, bereft of the energy to track down Alan and the others, had floated uselessly through the water until he beached on the river bank. He probably would have laid there until some scavenger showed up and finished the job the pteranodons had started if the Navy hadn't shown up. They had stumbled upon him by accident and dragged him back to the helicopter for treatment.

A noise from Eric's bed broke him from his thoughts. The boy had gone stiff in his bed, his face pinched and a his hands clenched. Billy sat up, concerned, when his companion's heart rate monitor begun to pick up. For a few moments, he watched as Eric began to toss and turn in his bed, his heart beat becoming even more erratic, before he realized what was happening.

He was having a nightmare.

Billy quickly got up and limped over to Eric's bed. As he began to shake the young boy awake, he couldn't help but be hit by a wave of guilt. _This_ was why Eric was always up. He wasn't an early riser; he had nightmares. Billy had noticed the bags under his eyes and the tightness of his smile in the mornings, but he had brushed all his suspicions off. "Eric," he whispered. "Wake up."

Eric shot awake and promptly clasped his hands over his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose.

He was trying to keep himself from screaming.

Roughly, he jerked away from Billy's grasp and glanced around wildly, trying to take in his surroundings. Billy had _no idea_ what to do in this situation; he majored in paleontology, not psychology. "Eric, don't worry. I'll go get your parents; it will just take a second-"

"No!" Eric's hand shot out, grabbing Billy's arm to keep him from leaving. "I'm fine! You don't need to get them!"

"It's just down the hall; I can have them here in a moment-"

"I can handle it!" Eric hissed. "I'm fine. I can handle it." And he whispered it like a prayer, as if it was a mantra that was the only thing keeping him together.

For a long moment, the room's occupants were silent, the only sound the _beep beep beep_ of Eric's calming heart. Then, "Thank you for saving my life, Billy."

They had never discussed what happened in the aviary. It had been like an unspoken rule for them; while they were both fully aware of what had occurred, they would in no way acknowledge it to one another. And that worked for them; talking about it wouldn't change what happened, so they shelved the matter and moved past it.

But now, Eric was bringing it up.

"There's nothing wrong with nightmares, Eric. They're normal to have, all things considered."

The boy looked frustrated as he replied. "I know that. I just… I need to handle it. I _can_ handle it."

"It's okay to need help. Your parents would be-"

"No!" Eric snapped. Then, looking ashamed at his outburst, he elaborated. "I… I don't want to worry them. Besides, I'm fine. It was just a bad dream; I'm sorry I woke you."

Eric was shutting down again. He did this often, Billy noticed. He would be fine for a while, then they would touch on a subject that caused negative memories to bubble up, and Eric would just… shut down. It was like watching a machine whir to a stop; one by one, the emotions would disappear from his face, and Eric would claim he was "fine" before escaping the situation as quickly as he could.

Then, Billy was struck by a realization. "You were disappointed. When we saw your parents after being dragged back to the hospital, you were disappointed. You wanted them to be mad at you."

Eric froze, then, reluctantly, he nodded.

"Why?"

"...Because I was selfish. And stupid. Because I wanted for _something_ to be normal again, and even though I didn't want them to be upset, I knew how to handle that. It was something that made sense, when everything else… didn't." Eric sucked in a large breath before continuing. "But it, uh, didn't work. They were happy. They thought I was getting back to my 'old self,'" he added, giving an ironic smirk.

"And you're not?" Billy asked, watching him closely.

"...I don't think the old Eric exists anymore. I want to be him. I want to get back to normal. It's just that… I don't even know what normal is anymore."

That night, neither of them slept well. They laid in the sterile white beds, listening to the sound of each other breathing and the steady _beep beep beep_ of the heart monitors.

* * *

When Eric was in the fifth grade, they had watched a documentary about _CNN._ His teacher had called in sick with the flu last minute, so the harried substitute had been completely without a lesson plan, and had pulled up the first documentary he could find. Most kids had ignored the film completely, electing to pass notes amongst friends or catch up on homework instead. But Eric's best friend had been out sick as well and he had no homework, so he had been one of the few students that had actually paid attention.

At first, _CNN_ had been something of a joke. It was a fledgling cable network that was trying, and ultimately failing, to get off the ground. Most people suspected it would just die a quiet death and fade off into obscurity.

And then baby Jessica McClure fell down a well.

She had been an eighteen month old child that had fallen into a twenty-two foot long shaft in her aunt's backyard. The rescue crews had hoped to reach her quickly, and would have, if it wasn't for one very big problem. The shaft was only eight inches in diameter; while it was wide enough for a baby, the adults trying to reach her would in no way fit. What began was a frantic, fifty-eight hour long quest that was blared across the television by none other than _CNN._ While other news channels had shown footage of the event, _CNN_ had been the only station to cover the scene nonstop throughout the duration of the crisis.

And so, for fifty-eight hours, the entire world tuned into _CNN_ and watched as the small town of Midland, Texas tried to save little Jessica McClure.

The world had done more than watch, they had gotten involved. People from the United States, France, England, and everywhere else you can imagine called in with ideas on how to save her. They watched as rescuers sent down microphones in an attempt to find out if she was still breathing, and listened to that little girl as she sang rhymes about Winnie the Pooh to herself while trapped in the dark. All over the world, people watched _CNN_ and prayed that she would survive, then cheered and cried as rescue workers finally brought her back to the light.

The world's fascination with the story hadn't ended at her rescue. She had become "everybody's baby." Sympathetic strangers showered the family with flowers, cards, toys, and money after the ordeal. People made movies and wrote songs about the event. The only events that had drawn more international intrigue was the death of Princess Diana and the San Diego Incident.

Eric had found the himself more fascinated with the aftermath of the incident than with the incident itself. Why had everyone become so fixated? What was it about tragedy that always managed to catch the attention of the world?

It wasn't until Eric found himself under that same attention that he realized the answer.

John Hammond had made Jurassic Park because he wanted to make people feel small; he wanted to humble them. And in a way, he had completely succeeded in that aspect. Nothing made the human race realize how fragile they were until a prehistoric killing machine rampaged through San Diego, blowing through all of humanity's cute little defenses without batting an eye. It had managed to make them realize for all of their accomplishments, the human race wasn't quite as superior as they always proclaimed themselves to be, and that caught everyone's interest. After all, wasn't that why people lined up for horror movies and haunted houses? Wasn't it why people swam with sharks and walked into lions' dens, despite the risks? Wasn't there something inexplicably enticing about the things that were deadly and dangerous and could destroy a person without even trying?

However, people were also fascinated by the opposite end of the spectrum.

Overcoming adversity managed to remind people that they weren't as helpless as they seemed. It showed that maybe, just maybe, humans were so much stronger than nature would have you believe.

After all, if an eighteen month old girl can survive for fifty-eight hours at the bottom of a well, and a twelve year old boy can live on an island full of dinosaurs for eight weeks, isn't that proof of the resilience of the human race?

Eric just wished he had realized without experiencing it for himself. Though, he supposed that people may not have been quite so fascinated with him if it weren't for the _scandal_ of it all.

When his mother had reported him missing, the Coast Guard had been sent out to Isla Sorna, where they found the wrecked boat. They had immediately reported the incident and returned back to Costa Rica, where his mother had been told the news of his "death." It had been filed for inspection as a dinosaur-related accident, and that was when InGen and certain officials of the Costa Rican government caught wind of the incident.

Jurassic Park had become a money pit for InGen. They spent billions of dollars buying islands, getting state-of-the-art equipment, obtaining most of the planet's supply of amber, and funding the research necessary for the world's best and brightest to bring back animals that had been extinct for millions of years.

They had spared no expense.

The park was supposed to make up for all of that, but it had failed before the world had even discovered its existence. Sorna had gone wild, and they had been unable to risk even setting foot on it without the threat of losing even more money. Their attempt at "Jurassic Park: San Diego" had only resulted in lawsuits, property damage, and death. Jurassic Park was a financial nightmare, and they needed to generate some kind of revenue from it, quick.

The Dino-Soar Parasailing Tours had been only one of their many schemes to incite positive interest in the islands. While the trips didn't generate much funds in themselves, they did help move public opinion towards the positive end of the spectrum, and prompted more interest in the company, causing more people to invest. The Costa Rican government had been more than happy to cooperate. After all, what generates tourism better than _dinosaurs_ right off of your coast?

And, most of all, they had both promised that the tours were completely safe.

So, when certain officials learned that a one such tour group had been brutally killed by dinosaurs, a child with them, they rightly assumed that an incident would cause bad press to rain down upon them and decided to modifythe circumstances. A few bribes here, a couple alterations in the files there, and the problem seemed to no longer exist. A boat had crashed in the middle of the ocean, miles from the completely and utterly safe dinosaur island, and all the passengers, little Eric Kirby amongst them, had died. Tragic, certainly, but absolutely nothing abnormal about it. Perhaps the person piloting the boat hadn't been paying attention, and had caused the accident. Perhaps there had been a mechanical problem in the vessel. Either way, it was by no means the fault of InGen. It was unfortunate, but there was nothing newsworthy about the situation. The boy's parents stirred up trouble for a while, but soon they had been convinced that the original reports of the boat being found outside of Sorna were incorrect and had gone home to grieve. The accident had received a small section in the back of a Costa Rican newspaper, and a slightly larger section in some small town paper from Oklahoma, but was soon forgotten by the masses. They canceled the tours for a few months, claiming legal difficulties, and planned to reopen them later with a larger distance required from the island.

Then, Eric's parents had kidnapped the famous Dr. Grant, hitched a ride to Isla Sorna, and quite effectively "kicked the hornet's nest," so to speak.

Soon, _everyone_ was prying into just what had happened, and the whole messy business was revealed. Not only that, but the public had learned that InGen had lied about the List, inciting the rage of the citizens of San Diego and the entire United States in general. While both the company and the government tried to find scapegoats to pin the whole debacle on, it was no use. The public was out for blood, and they knew exactly whose blood they were after.

If Eric was being honest, the only thing he liked about the attention this entire affair was getting was the fact that it had saved his parents.

Paul and Amanda Kirby had broken dozens of laws to save their child, that was without question. By all means, there was more than enough evidence to put them away for a long, long time. Except, the public was dead set against the idea. In their eyes, the Kirbys had done what any good parent would do, what InGen and Costa Rica _should_ have done in the first place: save their child. After all, what if it was their child that had been stranded? Were they supposed to leave their children for dead just because InGen didn't want the bad press? While public opinion didn't change the laws against things like _kidnapping_ and _flying (crashing) a plane in restricted airspace,_ it _did_ change the minds of the lawyers in charge of the case. InGen and Costa Rica could put the Kirbys away, but only if they wanted to destroy their reputations beyond repair. So instead, they cited "extenuating circumstances" and dropped all charges. Alan and Billy had agreed not to press charges for kidnapping them. Billy had claimed that he had caused plenty of trouble for the group himself, and it felt hypocritical to have them arrested when he had gotten off relatively scot-free, all things considered. And while Alan hadn't said it outright, they all knew that Eric was the only reason he had decided not to push the issue.

And as for the public? Well, they had already made their minds up about what had happened.

The Costa Rican government was corrupt and would fake your deaths for a few bucks. InGen hated children and would probably cause the dinosaur apocalypse, so pretty soon they couldn't _pay_ people to take their stock. Dr. Alan Grant? Well he was a hero yet again, obviously. Billy had managed to get off easier than the rest of them. The group had not breathed a word about the raptor eggs, and therefore the college student didn't provide a single scandalous, juicy angle to this story. While he was hailed as a hero for risking his life to save Eric, he wasn't focused on as much as the rest of them. Paul and Amanda Kirby were amazing, devoted parents who hadn't stopped until they rescued their son. And as for poor, brave little Eric Kirby?

He was the fascination of the entire world.

* * *

"...is recovering from his many injuries with the support of his parents. Eric is described as a kind, polite boy who-"

"BS," Eric snapped.

Billy groaned and grabbed the growing pile of cards at the center of the table as Ellie and Alan exchanged a look. Ellie snagged the remote and shut off the TV that had been playing in the background. Eric was glad; it's not like they were discussing anything interesting on the news nowadays. Just him.

Apparently, Eric had broken the record for the longest amount of time spent on one of the islands after they went wild without dying. Previously, the record had been held by Dr. Sarah Harding. Dr. Harding was a career wildlife expert who specialized in African predators and had been known to, quite literally, walk right into a lion's den. She had lasted five days before everything went to Hell. In the media's minds, that was more than enough reason to tromp all over his life and try to dig up every little thing he had ever done. In the past few days, Eric had seen widely inaccurate stories, tear-filled testaments from his "close friends," that were in actuality people Eric vaguely remembered from English class, and details about his injuries that were supposed to be confidential. That was another thing Eric had learned about fame. If it could leak, it would leak. Absolutely nothing was sacred. So, of course, the entire world had found out about the troodon bite and the operation and all those other details that were really none of their business. Which was why Billy, Eric, Alan, and Ellie were holed up in Quarantine with a deck of cards, avoiding the world as effectively as they could.

They were playing Bull$#!*.

Alan let loose a snort at Billy's reaction, causing the graduate student to glare at him. "How does he keep doing that?" he protested. "I haven't been able to get a single one!"

Eric smirked. He had been naturally observant as a kid, and his skill had only grown as he aged. When he had still lived with both of his parents, he had needed to be able to tell when one of them was close to snapping so that he could try and defuse the situation as best as he could. Billy just didn't realize that his eye kept twitching whenever he lied about the card he was setting down.

They probably wouldn't have been able to get away with playing a card game that involved swearing if his parents were here, which is why they had chosen to play it right then. His parents were out answering questions about the Incident (and considering the number of "incidents" InGen kept having that involved dinosaurs, they may want to consider renaming them something other than the "(fill in disaster location here) Incident"). Even though all charges had been dropped, they still had to speak with the authorities for "posterity"; they all did. Yesterday, Eric had spent all day recounting what had happened to various officials.

Including Vic Hoskins.

As InGen's resident security representative, it was well within his power to request an interview with meeting had only reinforced the idea that he disliked the man. Hoskins had greeted him with a clap on the shoulder that was supposed to seem friendly and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He had called him "kiddo" and claimed that he wanted Eric to think of him as a "pal" rather than just another official. Unlike everyone else, he didn't seem to care about how Eric had ended up on the island or how he had discovered the files. Instead, he was interested in the predators.

Specifically the velociraptors.

He had tried to pry answers about their pack behavior, hunting habits, and everything else you can imagine from Eric. Eric had hated him. He hated his beady little eyes and the hungry look on his face and how the man made Eric want to go back to Sorna for the sole reason of making sure Rose was safe. He hated how patronizing the man had been, as if Eric was stupid enough to think for even a second that Hoskins had any intention of being his _friend._ And most of all, he hated the complete and utter lack of respect the man had for dinosaurs. He acted as if they were dumb, malleable creatures that could be controlled as easily as the gun on his belt. He acted as if they were not living, _intelligent_ creatures that had their own feelings and instincts. If you tried to pet a velociraptor, it was more likely to bite off your arm than join your cause. Eric had been on alert from the first question. He had made his answers as vague as possible, and eventually just flat out said that Hoskins made him uncomfortable and left the room as quickly as possibly. The only good about meeting with InGen representatives was that they were very careful not to upset Eric any further (their reputation couldn't take much more); all he had to do was say that the questions were bothering him and the interview was over.

Thankfully, no one official had asked to speak to him today. _Un_ official was a different story, however. The number of interview requests he had received was truly ridiculous. Eric had refused them all, not that it discouraged the reporters. In fact, it apparently only added to the mystery of the story. Everyone wanted to be the person who got that first, groundbreaking interview. Ellie managed to field most of the calls. Alan was very correct in saying that she was there for her friends, which he had thanked her for several days ago while Eric not-so-subtly nudged him on. As for Eric, he was _very_ grateful for the paleobotanist's presence. Apparently when she had gotten Alan's distress signal, she had called in the cavalry and insisted she go along to make sure her best friend was alright. And she had been with them ever since, a constant warm, encouraging presence that had a good sense of humor and didn't talk down to Eric just because he was a kid. Still, Eric knew she couldn't stay much longer; either she went home alone or this mess got straightened out and they all got to return to the States. Despite calling them everyday, she missed her children and her husband, and they needed her back with them.

Billy gave another unsubtle, worried glance across the table at Eric. He had been doing that all day, since the nightmare he had witnessed last night. Eric wanted to groan. He had managed to keep his nightmares quiet ever since they got back from Sorna, but now the graduate student knew and wanted to help. Eric didn't _need_ help; he could handle it just fine. So what if he refused to let his raptor claw out of his presence? That was normal for him. And if he woke up every night because of nightmares, it wasn't a big deal.

Eric didn't want people prying into what had happened, what _was_ happening. He could take care of himself and they would never, ever need to know about those moments of all-consuming despair he had sometimes felt on Sorna. They would never need to know how scared he had been, how scared he _still_ was. Only, it was getting harder and harder to maintain the facade that everything was alright (because no matter what he told himself, things really, really _weren't)._

It had been stupid to want his parents to be mad at him, Eric knew that. It was just that everything had been spiraling out of control _so fast,_ and he didn't know what to do. The world that he used to be good in, the world he had _grown up_ in, was suddenly just as foreign to him as Sorna had been at first, and Eric wasn't entirely sure how to handle that. Everything was familiar yet _different,_ and people didn't seem to understand why he had to keep the claw or not wear the hospital gown, and Eric wasn't sure how to tell them in a way they could understand. He didn't know how to understand _them._ People ran on different rules than dinosaurs, and Eric couldn't seem to remember those rules anymore. But he _could_ remember how to handle his parent's anger. So he had latched onto that idea like a drowning man latched onto a life preserver. Only his parents hadn't been upset; they had been _happy_ that Eric was getting back to his old self, and Eric just wasn't sure how to tell them that his old self was gone. Maybe the old Eric had died with Ben. Maybe he was still sitting in that tiny water truck back on Sorna, waiting for someone to rescue him. Maybe it didn't matter, because he was _gone_ and Eric had no idea how to get him back.

"...very, very admirable job you're doing, but you're doing it to entirely the wrong person, so if you would just _get out of my way…"_

Eric started at the voice outside the door; usually the guard managed to scare everyone off. Who was stubborn enough to ignore the guy with the gun on his belt?

Alan quickly got up and swung open the door. "You know, Officer Velazquez, maybe you should consider arresting him. A few weeks in a Costa Rican prison would probably do wonders for his personality."

"Yes, yes, very humorous of you Dr. Grant. How was your vacation at Casa de Dinos? I would say that I'm sorry I missed it, but really, twice was more than enough for me." The man that walked into the hospital room was tall, walked with a slight limp, and dressed entirely in black.

"Hello, Ian," Ellie called in surprised.

"What on earth brings you to Costa Rica, Malcolm? Not enough chaos back at the University?" Alan asked.

"Chaos is a universal force that affects everything on this planet; there is no end to the amount of chaos at the University. But no, I'm here because of your company-toppling little friend, of course." Dr. Malcolm turned to Eric, shooting him a practiced white smile and holding out his hand. " _Very_ nice to meet you, Eric. Can I call you Eric? Good. As I was saying, it's nice to meet anyone that can shut up that idiot Regis just by showing up."

Eric raised an eyebrow as he shook the mathematician's hand. "Nice to meet you too. But I thought chaos was a unified system between the earth and an external force that causes changes in progressively larger waves?"

Malcolm gave him genuine grin as he grabbed a chair and sat down at the table. "I see you've read my book on Chaos Theory and nonlinear equations. Always nice to meet a fan."

"He thought you sounded high on yourself," Alan flatly stated. Eric choked. He had never thought the doctor would actually _tell_ Malcolm what he had said about the book.

But instead on acting offended, Dr. Malcolm just smiled again. "One of Grant's fans then? Don't worry; there's hope for you yet. I still have time to indoctrinate you to the correct way of thinking, which is mine, of course. Now, Chaos Theory often operates in a series of iterations where the fractal curve gradual changes until the instabilities of the system have become all-consuming and the implications of their effects must be faced. During the first iteration, there are few clues to the underlying mathematical structure of the fractal curve, but as it progresses..."

Ian Malcolm was intelligent, arrogant, and brash. He thought of himself as always right, and gloated every time he was proven to be so. He also saw no value in social conventions. In his mind, making polite conversation was a waste of both his time and intelligence. This meant that unlike the rest of society, Dr. Malcolm saw no need for treating Eric like he was some fragile, traumatized person that could break at a harsh word.

And for that, Eric liked him instantly.

Malcolm had been hired to run an investigation into just who was to blame for what had happened to Eric. According to him, they wanted to know who to lynch and he was the only person they trusted not to throw the investigation once InGen started throwing around their weight, since he hadn't let up when his reputation was trashed and everyone thought he was crazy. Ian had accepted instantly. In his eyes, it was a chance to mess with the company that had ruined his professional and personal life for years, with the added bonus of catching up with a few old friends.

Alan and Ian had an interesting relationship, Eric noticed. They loved to poke fun at each other's school of thought and career, but all of their interactions were punctuated by a kind of mutual respect and understanding. Each sharp riposte was blown through with fondness, for a lack of a better term. They weren't nearly as close as Alan and Ellie were, but they still counted one another as someone they could trust with their life.

Eric and Malcolm quickly formed a strange association filled with debates and an unusual form of understanding. While Eric wasn't anywhere close to Malcolm's level of skill with mathematics, he did know dinosaurs, possibly better than anyone else in the room. For his part, Malcolm didn't automatically decree Eric's opinion to be worthless just because of his age. The two of them quickly started arguing about everything from the behavior patterns of a velociraptor on the hunt to the habits of a maiasaur protecting its child, just for the sake of arguing. Eric had forgotten how nice it was for someone to actually argue with him, instead of acting like a stiff wind was enough to break him. And more than that, it was as if Malcolm _knew_ what Eric was doing every time he grabbed his raptor claw, or watched the door for intruders, or shut down because everything had suddenly become _too much_ and he needed to retreat into his mind to handle it. As if he understood _why_ Eric was doing it. And he didn't pity him; in fact, Malcolm treated Eric the exact same way he treated everyone else.

"So this managed to convince a pack of raptors to walk away?" Dr. Malcolm said, gazing at the pale, bone-like object doubtfully.

"Maybe. _Something_ convinced them to back off. But… they were acting strange before I pulled out the resonating chamber. Eric," the paleontologist said, turning towards the boy. "They started acting differently when they saw you were there. You never explained the 'complicated relationship' you had with the raptors."

"'Complicated relationship?'" Ian demanded, leaning forward with a frown.

Eric shifted uncomfortably. "It wasn't enough to save our lives, if that's what you're asking. They were probably just confused by Dr. Grant making a call for help and when they heard the helicopter coming, they thought that was the answer and decided to leave instead of risking the eggs."

"What was 'it?'" Malcolm persisted.

"The raptors were… fond of me, for lack of a better term."

" _Fond?"_

"They found me interesting."

" _Interesting?"_

Eric rolled his eyes at Malcolm's disbelieving tone. "Raptors are problem solvers," he elucidated. "You all know that from experience. They like to have their intelligence tested, but there wasn't much opportunity for that on Sorna. I mean, they were the smartest animals on the island, so it wasn't that hard for them to outsmart their prey. Then, I showed up, and they started having trouble. Once, I blew an old fire extinguisher in the mouth of a raptor that was trying to bite me, and it started stumbling around, gagging, and I was able to just walk away." Eric snorted at the memory. It was easy to find humor in a deadly situation when the predator was swaying around like a drunken sailor. "Another time I shoved a mini-fridge down a staircase and hit one of the raptors, because its pack mate was blocking the exit and I wanted it to call for help and draw it away. I ended up having to jump over the railing back to the first floor and take off running, because the ticked off pack member decided to go up the other staircase instead of the one blocked by the mini-fridge. And another time I…" Eric trailed off when he realized that the rest of his companions didn't seem to find these anecdotes as amusing as he did. Instead, they seemed rather horrified. "Anyway, you can't escape from a raptor the same way twice; they learn too quickly for that. So I kept having to get more creative to escape them and the more creative I got, the less they tried to kill me. I was something that was unusual and interesting, and if they killed me outright they'd loose that. That doesn't mean that they wouldn't kill me if they had the chance, though, they just wouldn't try as hard as they would if I was different."

For a long moment after his rambling, strange explanation, everyone was silent. Then, Malcolm shook his head and said, "Kid, you make one hell of a first impression, you know that?"

Dr. Grant snorted. "Yeah, he does that to everyone. Our first meeting involved smoke grenades and velociraptors."

"Second, actually," Eric corrected.

"Second?"

"Our first meeting was years ago. I was five, and you were giving a lecture at the school my mom was attending, and I had wandered off and snuck into your lecture. After it was over I bombarded you with questions and you gave me a toy dinosaur before I ran off."

Understanding dawned on the paleontologist's face. "You were that little kid that donated his tooth fairy money and hugged me without warning."

Eric felt his face grow warm. "Uh, yeah. That was me."

When the laughter subsided, Malcolm reached for the resonating chamber and put it to his lips. "Let's see how this thing works, then."

Eric started choking at the sound that came out of the device. He had only heard it once, but he had never, _ever_ wanted to hear it again. " _No._ Just, no! Please don't ever, _ever_ make that noise again. It's just… No. That is probably the last thing you want a velociraptor to hear you say."

"Wait, you mean you understood what Malcolm just said? You can understand velociraptor?" Alan said, shocked.

For some reason, the group was staring at him as if he had just pronounced he could fly. "Well, yeah. I had a lot of run ins with Rose's pack; I learned a few of the noises from context. I mean, you only saw the raptors a few times, but you guys figured out how to say 'help.' I had eight weeks to listen. Still, I didn't learn all that much."

Grant just shook his head and sat back, a dazed look on his face. "So what does it mean? What Malcolm said, what does it mean?" Ellie asked, intrigued.

Eric felt his face go bright red and he refused to look the others in the eye. "It's a, uh, mating call."

A stunned comprehension dawned on all of their faces. "That would mean you've, uh, heard it before," Billy stated awkwardly.

"I noticed a few raptors coming near where I was resting and climbed a tree so that they wouldn't see me! I was just going to wait for them to move on! They did _not_ move on." Embarrassed, Eric reached for the resonating chamber. "Can I see that?"

At first, all he had been able to make were breathy screeches. Eric managed to slowly figure the device out, however. Soon, an echoing, trilling sound was bursting forth from the chamber.

"What does that one mean?" Dr. Degler asked.

Eric gave a small, bittersweet smile. "It's what Rose's pack used to call me."

* * *

 **This was the last chapter that the group will be in Costa Rica post-Sorna. Next, time jump to when they are back in the States. All my information about CNN and Jessica McClure comes from a documentary I watched a while ago and various websites I pulled up for details about the incident. I apologize if anything I wrote was wrong. In my defence, I didn't even exist yet when the Jessica McClure Incident happened, so I'm working entirely off of second hand information.**

 **So, that was my explanation for the aftermath of the Incident. We're going to get a bit more about the repercussions on InGen farther down the line, but this was most of it. I know that in some video game it had Ben bribe the boat drivers to take them to Sorna, but I don't buy that. I mean, they had** Dino-Soar **printed on the parasail. That screams legitimate business, and I think that InGen would be behind that, personally. Bet you didn't think I'd drag Malcolm into this, did you? Well, he's here, and he's here to stay. He gets to be a big part in this story too, I promise you that.**

 **I feel I should elucidate just why Eric is acting the way he is, specifically with the nightmares. If you don't care, then by all means, skip over this. If you recall, in Chapter 3 Eric wondered about the existence of God and the meaning behind all the terrible things that were happening to him. In it, he basically had pinned his continued survival on his ability to "handle it," which is why he's so fixated on handling it now. He also got into the habit on Sorna of trying to push aside his emotions when they got too much to handle. There was too much trauma happening to be able to do what he needed to survive and deal with it in a healthy manner, so he chose to not deal with it at all. So when he "shuts down," he's doing that same thing, because he's dependent on it. It's his new normal, and he doesn't know how to manage being back in an environment that doesn't require that. Hope that makes sense to anyone other than me.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks to all the amazing people who followed, favorited, and reviewed! Shout outs to** frytrix, Guest, bunny's pumpkin patch, Apache Thunderbird, Archeops567, LightningScar, billie75865, Countdown, iamdaraptor, d wright **for reviewing! In response to questions:**

frytrix: **I have this story planned out in a surprising amount of detail for me, so I can tell you how soon Eric starts hanging with velociraptors again. We have this chapter and the next for the aftermath back home, which is very important for later because we find out just what happened to InGen in these chapters. Then, we have one chapter for him becoming Owen Grady, and one more for his post name change, pre Jurassic World time, where we find out how he gets to the point where he accepts a job from them.** _ **Then,**_ **he starts having interactions with velociraptors again. So, three chapters from now. Unfortunately, I can't speed the pace of the story any faster than it already is. I don't have meaningless chapters; every time I post something, it includes information that ties into the overall plot later on. So, the only way the story makes sense is if I add all of this background information. But, I can promise that he will have much Raptor Squad bonding in his future. Hope this was of help!**

Archeops567: **I'm in this for the long run. This fic is going beyond Jurassic World.**

LightningScar: **I should have looked up the healing time; it slipped my mind. It's, however, possible to break one's rib without piercing the lung, depending on the way it breaks. However, your points are valid and my insertion has therefore lessened the reality of this situation. That one's on me. So, sorry about that everyone! Thanks for logicking me, I appreciate it (I'm not being sarcastic, I actually appreciate it. It helps me make things more realistic in the future).**

Iamdaraptor: **You didn't have a question, but I realize there's been a slight miscommunication. I never specified which Rex Eric first saw fight the Spino, because at that point of time Eric hadn't named them yet. However, it had been Set, not Anubis, that Eric witnessed fighting during his solo time on Sorna. The only time Anubis fought Sobek was when he died in the movie.**

 **Also, important! This chapter is made up of snapshots of what happens when they get back from Costa Rica. The first three segments happen right after one another, but the rest are time jumps from the previous for a few weeks or so. Just so you all know, because this would get confusing otherwise.**

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

* * *

 **Chapter Ten:** How Can You Learn to Breathe, When You Haven't Even Stopped Drowning Yet? (First, You Need Someone to Teach You How to Swim.)

Awareness came slowly.

First, it was a dull throb at the base of his skull; then, a sharp pain behind his eyes. The sounds of the night reached his ears next, filled with keening, haunting sounds that crawled up his spine and invaded his mind. Slowly, Eric Kirby pried open his eyelids and painfully pulled himself into sitting position. Something had happened… Something had… What had happened? It was foggy. Only bright, bursting flashes of falling, of crashing, of getting lost. He had been looking for something… Or was it someone? Who had been with him?

Where was he?

Eric blearily looked around, lifting his hand to the back of his neck with a sharp wince; it came away bloody. He must have hit his head; maybe that was why he was having such a hard time remembering what had happened. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and Eric began to take in his surroundings. They were… _familiar._ Tall trees, a grassy clearing, large boulders…

Isla Sorna.

Eric scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain. Something had happened; something had gone wrong. There had been a crash, an accident… He couldn't _remember._ And maybe it didn't matter, because he was here now, out in the open, _at night._ He needed to figure out where he was so that he could find his way back to his water truck, and there he could figure out what had happened and if there was someone else here and…

It was too late.

Eric was surrounded by glowing eyes that were creeping ever so closer.

He scrambled in his pocket for a flare (he had insisted on having one on his person at all times, much to his parent's consternation). Now, he was glad for his paranoid streak. He yanked out the life-saving plastic device. He could scare off the troodons, then find Rose and hope for help a second time, and then he could figure out how to get off of this island again. Quickly, Eric cracked open the top of the flare…

And it didn't light. It didn't even _spark._ Eric let the useless piece of plastic fall to the ground with a dull thud. He could still make this work; he'd beat his way through the troodons with a stick if he had to. He started backing away from the burning eyes… and he heard a groan behind him. Shocked, Eric glanced over his shoulder, only to see Dr. Grant lying prone on the forest floor. He was laid out on his side, turned away from Eric, obviously injured. Somehow, he must have gotten stuck here too. That was fine; Eric could get him out of here too, _somehow,_ and they'd both get off of this island together.

Not taking his eyes off of the approaching predators, Eric quickly squatted down next to the doctor. He placed his hand Alan's back and shook him. "Dr. Grant," he hissed. "Dr. Grant we need to get out of here."

Alan only groaned louder. Worried, he rolled over the paleontologist.

Eric jerked back, repulsed, at the sight that greeted him. He turned over and retched, bile burning his throat and his nose and he didn't care because _oh God._

Ensconced in his childhood idol's mutilated abdomen were two small, white eggs.

The troodons had already gotten to him.

A low rattle drew his attention upwards. Eric looked up from the reeking contents of his stomach, gasping, to be greeted by the sight of a lone troodon standing before him.

It leapt for his throat.

* * *

The moment Eric Kirby woke up, he instinctively clamped his hands over his mouth to muffle his screams.

 _(After all, you can never be sure of what your screams may attract.)_

Gasping for breath, Eric slowly pieced together his surroundings.

There were no troodons.

There was no jungle.

He wasn't on Isla Sorna.

He was in his bedroom.

He was safe.

(That last one was a lie Eric told himself to make his parents happy. There was no safe, not anymore.)

(But maybe, one day, he would believe it.)

Eric stumbled out of bed, tripping over his twisted bed sheets. He tried to calm his racing heart, but he couldn't. All he could see were glowing eyes and two small, white eggs and so much _red._ He needed to breathe. He needed to get away. He couldn't, because Dr. Grant was bleeding and dying and he couldn't do _anything._ But he wasn't, was he? Dr. Grant had gotten off of Sorna with them; he was back at his university. Eric could remember that. But what if he was wrong? What if…?

Fumbling, Eric pulled out the phone his parents had given him when they got back to the States and punched in the doctor's number. He slid down against the wall and pulled his knees up against his chest as the phone rang. Panic clutched his chest tighter the longer it remained unanswered, but right before it went to voicemail Eric heard a sleepy, "H-Hello?"

Relief flooded through Eric. "Dr. Grant! I - I thought… I was worried that…" he trailed off. Now that the panic of the moment had passed, Eric was embarrassed. He had called the professor at what, three am? All because of some stupid nightmare? What happened to handling it? "I'm being stupid," he finished quietly. "I'm sorry I woke you."

He went to hang up, only to be stopped as Dr. Grant said through the receiver, "Eric, wait! Don't hang up! It's fine; I wasn't sleeping."

Eric snorted at the blatant lie but stayed on the line, clutching the phone tighter as he stared at the dark walls of his bedroom, the last vestiges of his dream still churning in his mind. "I'm here."

"You haven't been calling us much lately; we were getting worried. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. I'm sorry I haven't been calling; things have been hectic here," Eric lied as guilt curled in his stomach. He hadn't been calling _because_ he didn't want anyone to be worried about him, but it seemed to have produced the opposite effect. He had wanted to get his head on straight before he called again; he didn't want them to see how badly he had been faring. However, it seemed to be easier said than done.

Dr. Grant wasn't buying it either. "Eric, what happened?"

"It was nothing," he responded weakly. "Just a stupid nightmare."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Alright." The professor seemed to be thinking. "Let's talk about something else then. How's San Diego?"

They hadn't gone back to Enid. Instead, his father had sold his business and home, and moved in with Eric and his mom. He was in the process of opening a new Kirby's Paint and Tile Plus in San Diego, but it was still in the works.

When Eric had asked why they were staying in San Diego instead of going back to Enid, his parents had simply stated, "Better opportunities."

He had quickly learnt that they really meant, "Better psychiatrists."

"It's fine," he muttered.

"But…"

Eric sighed. "There are a lot of people here. Can we change the subject, please?"

Eric still was very uncomfortable with the masses; he was starting to think that this would be a permanent affliction. Every time he went into a crowded space his heart started racing and he began searching for a way out. It only got worse when someone recognized him; then, people started crowding in and asking him questions, and it was all Eric could do not to panic.

"Okay… Your parents told me you're homeschooled now. How's that going?"

"Something else," Eric automatically responded.

School had been an unmitigated disaster.

His parents had suggested he take some time before going back to school; his "Psychiatrist of the Week," as Eric liked to refer to the many shrinks he had gone to, had concurred. But Eric had wanted something to be normal again _so badly,_ and the tedium of the eighth grade had seemed perfect. So he had pushed and pushed, and his parents had finally agreed. Come September 1st Eric had walked up the sidewalk to Lincoln Junior High, hopeful that maybe, just maybe, _this_ would work out.

In hindsight, the fact that he was hopeful for something should have been the first warning sign.

At first, no one had noticed him, which was the way he preferred. It's not like he was advertising the fact that he was going back to school; they probably didn't expect him to return so soon. Then, he saw Miranda Black.

Miranda had been his first friend when he had moved to San Diego; they had been lab partners, and the friendship had stuck. She was standing on the school steps, facing away from him, reading one of her many science fiction novels as she leaned against the railing. Eric had walked up behind her, and, with what he hoped was not a nervous smile, said, "Hey Miranda."

Miranda took one look at him and burst into tears.

Eric had floundered; he hadn't figured out how to deal with people yet, let alone crying females he may or may not have a slight crush on. Miranda, for her part, had been inconsolable. She had flung her arms around Eric's neck and sobbed that _oh God you're alive_ _I thought you were_ dead _thank God you're alive._ Eric had awkwardly patted her shoulder and ultimately failed at comforting her, while gawking sixth graders took pictures of the scene, despite Eric's rather impressive Stare o' Death. Miranda had to be sent home before class even started.

It had gone downhill from there.

When the teachers had introduced the class, most of them had done that little 'get to know your classmates' spiel, where the students introduced themselves and said one thing they did that summer. Every time they got to Eric, they just shifted awkwardly before eventually skipping him, all while Eric slouched lower in his seat, embarrassed. Some of the students, mainly from the younger years but some from his own grade, had walked up and asked for his autograph. Others had started rudely asking about everything that had happened, as if they had some sort of _right_ to know about the worst thing that he had ever went through. The worst, however, were the _gawkers._ They were the ones that watched him like he was about to do something insane and mind blowing. The ones that acted as if Eric was some kind of superhero, or someone not entirely human. He couldn't stand being around them. Painstakingly, Eric had made it through the school day and gone to Cross Country tryouts after school. He had hoped that would go better; after all, he had been on the team with a lot of these guys the year before. They were friends.

It did not go better.

Most of them had acted uncomfortable around Eric. They had fumbled for words and winced every time they said something that could even relate tangentially to Sorna, apologizing for statements Eric really didn't see a problem with. Others had stared, grilling him on everything that had happened just like so many others already had that day. But this, this was different. These were his _friends._ Or, they were supposed to be; now, Eric wasn't so sure. Others… Eric wasn't really sure how to describe how they were acting. He would have called it jealous, but it couldn't be that. How could you be jealous of spending two months fighting for your life?

Eric had excelled during cross country tryouts, but he was one of the few that did. He hadn't been surprised at this fact, however; most of his classmates tended to slack off on their training during the summer; Eric hadn't had that luxury. However, walking back to the locker rooms he overheard a few of the couldn't-possibly-be-jealous kids talking, and it seemed they had a very different outlook on the reason.

They hadn't exactly been subtle in their jeers, though they probably thought they had been. Eric had heard them making bitter, sneering comments about how the tryouts had been unfair, because how could the coaches expect them to outrun someone that spent the summer racing dinosaurs? He heard them say that _perfect little_ _Eric Kirby_ should be off reveling in his newfound fame instead of wrecking their chances of making the team.

And he realized, they were jealous. They were jealous of his celebrity, whether or not it was completely unwanted. They hadn't even stopped for a second to consider how much his fame had _cost,_ how much it was _still_ costing him. Anger had curled in his stomach, tight and hot and twisting his insides until he had trouble breathing. Roughly, he brushed past the embarrassed yet self-righteous kids who had just realized they had been overheard. Then, he walked into the practically deserted school and stumbled around the hallways until he was sure that no one had followed him. Once he was certain he was alone, Eric found the nearest trash can and emptied the contents of his stomach into it, until all that remained was that red-hot hate. He had ended up spending God only knew how long curled up against the wall, trying to fend off the sudden rush of memories.

If those boys wanted his life, then they could have it, and all that came with it. They could have the nightmares and the pain and the guilt that sometimes threatened to swallow him whole. They could have the _fame;_ Eric Kirby just wanted his old life back, thank you very much. Still, deep down, he knew that if he had the choice, he would never switch circumstances with those boys, for one very simple reason: Eric wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. Vaguely, he wondered if realizations like that were what maturity felt like. Eventually, Eric gathered the memories into a tight little ball and pushed them deep, deep inside himself, where they would keep until the nightmares woke him again. He walked home from school that day feeling like he was drowning, and, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out how to breath again.

Still, Eric had gone back to Lincoln the next day with a renewed determination. If he had survived Isla Sorna, then he could survive middle school. Maybe.

He made it until lunch.

The day had been going relatively well, all things considered. Miranda had come back to school and had apologized for her outburst, despite Eric's protests that it wasn't necessary. They had begun navigating through the awkward waters that occurred when one hormonal teenager had a maybe-sorta crush on the other, who happened to still be recovering from the emotional trauma of getting the news of her best friend's death, only to discover he was not in fact dead. Eric thought that their friendship was well on its way to normalcy. They had sat down at a lunch table in the corner, ignoring all the whispers and stares Eric was garnering, when it happened.

Vincent McGraw was a bully, plain and simple. Eric and he had gotten along like oil and water - which is to say, not at all. Vince had harbored a grudge against Eric since he had moved to San Diego, when he had stood up to him on his first day of school when he saw the bulky boy tormenting a younger kid, then proceeded to wipe the floor with Vincent when said boy had tried to ambush Eric while he was walking home. (Yet another reason to be thankful his father had forced him to take those martial arts classes.) Frankly, the animosity had been mutual.

McGraw had used his brains (or lack thereof) to come up with an ill-planned scheme for embarrassing Eric, then proceeded to carry out said plan at lunch. He had put on a dinosaur mask and walked up behind Eric, playing a loud recording of a roar in hopes of startling the boy into crying or running or something equally humiliating in front of the entire school.

This did not happen.

Eric had felt the presence behind him and heard the roar, and automatically went into flashback mode, which had the unfortunate consequence of triggering his Fight or Flight instinct. At that time, Eric had been pinned between the table and the whatever-it-was behind him, automatically ruling out Flight. So, Eric had fought instead. He had grabbed the nearest object - which just so happened to be his very thick, incredibly heavy Biology textbook - and spun around, slamming it into the snout of the 'animal' behind him. He heard a large _crack,_ and had been about to ram the textbook into the scaly figure again when a hand on his wrist snapped him back to reality. Miranda had been standing next to him, white faced and scared - scared of _him_ \- while the previously loud cafeteria plunged into silence. Eric had glanced around the room, wondering why he wasn't in a jungle and was that Vincent McGraw groaning on the ground, before he helplessly spluttered, " _What?"_

For his troubles, McGraw got a broken nose and a one-way ticket to juvie for causing a PTSD attack in a twelve year old boy. Eric, well, he hadn't been expelled _per se._ Instead, the principal ever-so-delicately pointed out that he may fare better at home, then sent Eric to clean out his locker while he called his parents to pick him up. Eric had packed his meager belongings into his backpack and left the school feeling completely alone and more than a little bit miserable, exactly one and a half days into his tenure. From that moment on, his teacher had been his computer and whatever he could dig up in the library.

So yes, his current schooling situation was a bit of a sore subject at the moment.

"Eric…" Dr. Grant trailed off. "Do you remember what I asked you back on Sorna?"

 _(No, I mean are you…_ okay? _)_

 _(I don't know. Maybe if we get off this island I could find out.)_

Eric finally knew the answer to that question.

"I'm not okay," he whispered. "I don't think I'll ever be okay again."

"Eric, these things take time, but they will get better-"

"No, I need you to listen to me!" The last thing Eric wanted to hear was another _everything will get better_ speech. "I need you to understand." He had tried to make someone understand before. Psychiatrist Number Three had been unusually tolerable, and Eric had actually tried to explain things to her instead of just evading the questions. But she hadn't understood, _at all._

For a long moment, there was silence. Then, "I'm listening, Eric."

Eric sucked in a shaky breath before beginning. "When you guys were on Sorna and Nublar, you were only on there for a few days." He paused before continuing. "I wasn't. In nature, you adapt to the environment or you die. But when you and everyone else were on the islands, you didn't need to adapt; you weren't there long enough to make it necessary. But I was there for so long, and I didn't want to die, so I adapted instead. I changed everything about how I used to live and how I thought, in order to survive. And now," Eric said shakily as he sucked in another too-painful-why-is-it-so-painful breath, "now I don't know how to change back. It's like everyone else is playing some game, but I don't know the rules. I - I keep having nightmares, I can't let my raptor claw out of my sight, I have to carry a _flare_ everywhere I go, and I can't figure out how to explain to anyone _why._ I don't understand what to do or how to handle this anymore, and I can't even begin to figure it out. I - I feel like I can't breathe all the time _and I don't know why._ It's - It's like I forgot all I knew about people while I was on Sorna, and - and now I'm relearning it all and I just _can't."_

Dr. Grant was silent, probably still trying to take in everything Eric had just dumped on him. Deciding that if he had already gone this far he might as well tell him everything, Eric continued. "For the most part, Isla Sorna was Hell," he whispered, staring blankly at the wall ahead of him. "I spent the entire time terrified, the longest I went without getting attacked was around six hours, and the closest things I had to friends were the velociraptors that would eat me if they were given the chance. Even though I don't hate it, I would never go back… But I can't seem to figure out how to live anywhere else."

Silence rang through the phone, and just when Eric was beginning to suspect the doctor had hung up, Alan spoke. "When I got off of Nublar I couldn't figure out how to live again." he said lowly. "I kept trying to make things exactly how they used to be, but it kept falling apart. Every time I tried, all I could do was look at everyone else and think about how… _innocent_ they all were. There they were, their biggest worries being getting to the grocery store before it closed, while I couldn't close my eyes without seeing a Rex attacking."

"What did you do?"

"I realized that things weren't going to go back to normal, so I started to try and find a new normal instead. And, thanks to Malcolm, Ellie, and Billy, it worked for the most part. While the memories would still bother me sometimes, I was coping. I could function again. Eric, we can't change what happened to us, but we can try and deal with it. And we don't do it alone; we all need to help each other to do it." For a moment, Alan paused, before continuing. "Eric… Have you told your parents any of this?"

The young boy shook his head, then realizing the doctor couldn't see him said, "I didn't want to worry them."

"Your parents care about you; they wouldn't want you to hide this from them. Maybe you should consider talking about at least part of this with them."

"Maybe," he parroted. "Goodnight, Dr. Grant. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Don't be. I told you when I gave you my number that you can call me whenever you need to, and I meant it. Goodnight, Eric." He went to hang up the phone when he heard Alan say, "And Eric?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that we're here for you, right? Your parents, Ellie, Malcolm, Billy and I, we're here for you."

"I know."

And he meant it.

* * *

It's strange how their home had changed completely but not at all since they had gotten back from Isla Sorna.

It was still the same house. Same worn sofa that his mother had found at a flea market their third day in San Diego and immediately dragged home, claiming it had "character;" same big, fluffy blanket that had been lugged here from Enid spread across the top of the sofa; and the same coffee table covered in water rings ("You're supposed to use a coaster, Eric"). Same home.

(He always had to shut up the small part of him whispering that his home was a cramped water truck on an island located off the west coast of Costa Rica. This was his home; he just had to get used to it again. And that shouldn't be too hard (he hoped). Here, there was no blood stains or tattered, filthy bandages or the scent of illness permeating the stuffy air. Here was where his parents called home, and Eric would too. Eventually.)

But in so many small ways, it was completely and utterly different. The phone was still sitting dead on the countertop from when his father had gotten annoyed at the persistent calls of the reporters and ripped its plug from the wall. The windows used to have thin, white lacey curtains that his mother had loved because they let in a lot of "natural light." Now, they were covered in dark, heavy drapes that could keep the flashing cameras of the gawking press out of their home. A small, blinking box of their new security system was next to the door, made necessary by the Kirby family's new celebrity status. Tiny, persistent reminders that Eric's life would never be the same.

Eric hadn't given a single interview since he returned from Sorna. There had been offers, of course, from just about every single major and minor news station in the country, and a few from out of it. His parents had been very clear: No one was talking to their son if he didn't want to speak to them. Eric had also been very clear: He did not want to speak to them. Not that that had stopped the most tenacious of them. Or any of them.

It may not have been as bad if they weren't living in San Diego. San Diego, where the T-Rex had attacked after it escaped from InGen's "control" (didn't they realize there was no such thing?). San Diego, whose people was still grieving for all those that had lost their lives in the resulting rampage. San Diego, where _everyone_ wanted to know how Eric had done it, how he had survived.

(What they didn't say was, "Why did you survive when the person I loved _didn't?")_

He wished they would leave him alone. He wished that they would stop asking him about how he had survived the Rexes, because he couldn't take looking one more bereaved, sobbing person in the eye and telling them that he was so, so very sorry for their loss, but there was nothing they could have done to save them, so it was probably best to stop thinking about the blood and the teeth and the _oh God oh please God help me_ before it drove them mad. (Not in so many words, of course. Mostly, he just apologized and stood there helplessly as yet another desperate soul _shattered_ right in front of him, all the while wanting nothing more than to run until nobody could find him.) He wished that everyone would just give him enough space to breath, because relearning how was hard enough without everyone crowding him to the point of suffocation.

His parents were seated at the table, awake despite the hour. Eric had noticed that they had been getting less and less sleep at night, but he had been so preoccupied with his own nightmares he hadn't been able to get up the courage to ask them about theirs. They had them too, of course. It wasn't as bad as Eric's night terrors, but sometimes, long after his torments had driven him from sleep, he would hear them startle awake. Those nights they would come in to check on him, and he would pretend to be sleeping so they wouldn't realize that he had been staring at the same patch of blank white wall for three and a half hours, trying to burn the red of Ben's blood from his mind. Nightmares weren't the only reason that his parents were awake. They were worried about him. They were worried about what had happened and the fact that he hadn't been able to keep a therapist for more than a few sessions (one hadn't even lasted fifteen minutes) and how he hadn't cried once since this entire mess started. They were worried about the fact that despite their reassurances, Eric had refused to open up to anyone about what had happened.

His father noticed him first. He had glanced up, only to see Eric standing at the top of the staircase watching them awkwardly. "Hey, Eric. Couldn't sleep?"

Eric cleared his throat nervously before answering. "Nightmare," he replied succinctly.

His parents exchanged a quick, not-as-subtle-as-they-thought-it-was glance. "Do you want to talk about it?" his mother ventured.

It was the first time he had actually admitted that he was having trouble with nightmares. They had all figured out that he was having them, but Eric had resolutely refused to so much as acknowledge their existence out loud. Until now.

Dr. Grant's words had resonated with Eric. While he wasn't about to bear his soul to the world, he had decided not to lock his parents out _(as much)_ anymore. It was only hurting both of them. Still he shook his head. "I need to talk to you."

His father straightened. "Okay."

"I need to talk to you. About Sorna. About what happened there," he rambled. "But I can't. Every time I try it ends up getting jumbled and confusing and I can't figure out how to continue without it getting even more tangled than before. So I'm not going to talk. I wrote this," Eric said, fumbling for his leather bound journal. "For you. While I was on Sorna, that is. And I thought I was going to die, so I made this so that you would know what happened to me. But then I didn't die, and this became something else. It became something to write everything in, because that was the only way I could get what happened out of my head. And I didn't want you to know. I didn't want anyone to know. So I kept the journal, and didn't let anyone read it, because I was scared what they would think if they did. What you would think. But I'm not anymore, not really. Actually, no, that's wrong, I am scared but I was scared on Sorna and you guys still came, so I figure that I should take the risk on this one too. So… yeah," he finished awkwardly, setting the journal down next to his dumbfounded parents. "You can read it if you want. You don't have to, but you can. I won't mind." Then, he turned and ran back up the stairs, ignoring his mother's bewildered, "Eric!"

He didn't go back to bed.

Instead, he stayed by the stairs, just out of sight. He slid down the face of the wall and pressed his back against its surface until he could pretend that he was disappearing into oblivion. He pulled his knees up against his chest and listened as his father began to read aloud.

Then, he listened as his parents began to cry.

He didn't cry with them.

* * *

Getting out of the house was an ordeal in itself.

Apparently as long as they were on "public property," the press could stalk whoever they wanted, even if said person was underage and traumatized. Which was why the noble members of the press corps had been camping outside of Eric's house since they returned from Costa Rica, harassing him every chance they got. Eric had taken to walking out of the back door and hopping four consecutive fences before landing on a street far away from where the shantytown of reporters had been set up.

Eric had no idea how they haven't figured it out yet. He's literally gone two weeks without leaving through the front door. What, did they think he was teleporting everywhere?

That escape route was fine when he was walking somewhere alone. However, when he was going out in the car with his parents, he had to deal with them. Mainly, it consisted of them slowly wading through the sea of flashing cameras before climbing in their SUV, where his father made liberal use of the horn and threatened to run them over if they didn't move.

Eric really, really hoped they got tired of him soon, because he was most certainly tired of _them._

Once they were finally free of the people, Eric could finally relax (somewhat. He didn't actually relax all that much anymore). Quickly, the landscape outside the window blurred into a uniform image of highways and buildings. For several hours, the occupants of the vehicle remained in a companionable silence. Eric absently watched as the landscape bled from city to suburbia.

Ellie's husband, Mark, had received a promotion not long after she returned from Costa Rica. He was now heading up the Los Angeles office of the State Department, and as such had moved his family to a suburb an hour out of the city, three hours away from the Kirby household in San Diego.

The Degler family's new home was exactly how he pictured it would be. Located in nice, symmetrical suburbia, it purported a good school and a lack of Tyrannosaurus Rexes rampaging through the streets. It was far away enough from San Diego that any dinosaur attack would likely be stopped before it reached their home by the military or vindicated mathematicians, whoever was quicker. Dr. Degler would probably like living here.

His father pulled the car up the driveway as a smiling Ellie walked out to greet them, baby Alex on her hip and Charlie toddling after her. "It's great to see you," she enthused as they exited the vehicle. "Come on in; Mark's just starting the barbeque."

His parents and Ellie had conspired to instigate bi-weekly dinner nights, meaning that every two weeks one family would drive three hours to meet the other. Eric didn't mind; he was happy to see Dr. Degler again. However, he was under no illusion that a big factor in deciding to start wasn't an attempt to keep an eye on him.

While Alan hadn't said anything about what Eric had told him, everyone else still knew that _something_ had happened. The others had seemed to take the night time phone call to Dr. Grant as a signal he was more open to discussing what had happened, and he was… kind of. While he still wasn't ready to come out about everything that occurred on Sorna (he wouldn't ever be, he thought), he wasn't going to isolate himself anymore; that hadn't even worked in the first place. So he reached out. He spoke with Dr. Grant daily, Dr. Degler would call every few days, and he and Billy had a constant stream of emails and phone calls running between them. Dr. Malcolm would spontaneously call at random intervals, try to convert him to the "correct" manner of thinking, checkup to make sure he was okay, then go radio silent for a while.

It wasn't just him that needed help with dealing with what happened. Dr. Grant would ring him in the middle of the night, just like Eric had rung him, to make sure the nightmares hadn't been real. Eric and Billy had an unspoken agreement to pretend that the only reason the elder boy called him randomly, sounding panicked and distraught, was to give him impromptu Spanish lessons, rather than reassure himself that he had saved the younger from the pteranodons. Dr. Degler and Dr. Malcolm didn't really call Eric because they hadn't been on the island together, but occasionally Ian would ring to grill him about the raptors, trying to make sense of the Hell that had happened during his own two day sojourn on Sorna. As for his parents… Well, Eric didn't think he would have been able to keep going without them, and the feeling was mutual. The group had a strange dynamic. They came from radically different backgrounds and walks of life, but had somehow become completely and utterly dependent on one another. They kept each other sane.

"Hello again, Eric," Mr. Degler called as they entered the backyard.

Eric nodded in greeting. "Hello, Mr. Degler."

Mark Degler had been one of the people at the airfield when the plane finally brought them back from Costa Rica. He had been waiting for his wife, excited to see her after she had ran off in a whirlwind to go save her best friend, and had meet the entire group as consequence.

Eric listened absently as the adult began to engage in small talk when, suddenly, he felt a tug on his leg. His muscles tensed, his mind flying through the list of things it could possibly be. _Compys? No, too big. Too small for a dilophosaurus. Most predators would have attacked immediately instead of giving him warning. Could its claws have gotten stuck in his pant leg?_

"'Scuse me," came the insistent young voice, breaking him from his reverie.

Eric looked down with a smile pasted on his face, not giving any indication of his previous thoughts. "Yeah, Charlie?"

"My mama says you saw real dinosaurs like the dinosaur man," the three year old said, staring at him intently.

"That's right, Charlie."

Charlie looked at him for a moment, stunned, before nodding in that decisive, matter of fact manner that only toddlers seemed to possess. "You play dinosaurs with me now," he proclaimed, tugging Eric towards his sandbox.

"Charlie, honey, I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Ellie said, speaking up from where she had been watching the exchange. "You can go play with your dinosaurs alone."

"No, that's okay," Eric said, smiling at the boy. "I'd love to play dinosaurs with you, Charlie."

The now happy child excitedly tugged the preteen towards the other end of the backyard and dragged him down into seated position when they reached the sandbox. Charlie plucked one of the plastic toys from the ground and held it out to Eric reverently. "This is a herbivore," he declared earnestly. "He's my favorite."

Eric smiled. He remembered when he treated his velociraptor Dr. Grant gave him the same way. "You like brachiosaurus, huh. I like them too."

Charlie frowned. "Herbivore," he corrected.

"Brachiosaurus are herbivores-" Eric began, then stopped when he saw he was only confusing the kid. He'd explain it when Charlie was older. "Does your herbivore have a name?"

The boy nodded, content. "Will."

"I knew a few brachiosa - herbivores. One was named Diana, and the other was Echo."

Charlie's eyes went wide. "You knew _real_ herbivores?"

This fact seemed to make Charlie decide that Eric was the coolest person he had ever met. After playing with the toys for several minutes, he suddenly looked up at Eric and stared at him intently. "What's your favorite?"

"Huh?"

"I like herbivore dinosaurs. What do you like?"

Eric began to answer, then stopped. This question was much more personal to him than it was to Charlie; after all, dinosaurs had been his companions for a long time. What was his favorite? He thought of silly, fumbling Echo, who used to tip over because of her gawky neck. He thought of Toto, running up to him every time he saw Eric, and of Glinda, watching over her children with a careful eye. He thought of Nephthys, who scared him half to death but still had a kind of breathtaking, sublime beauty. Eric grinned. He knew who was his favorite, and it was most definitely not one that the others would approve of. He leaned forward and said, "Can you keep a secret, Charlie?"

The boy nodded earnestly.

Eric smiled again. "Velociraptors."

* * *

Eric was at the end of his rope. There was literally nothing left that hadn't been tainted by Sorna. There was only one thing he could think of that may bring him some sense of normalcy.

Eric shoved open the door to the animal shelter, feeling the cool air hit his face as he entered. He had volunteered at a small, no-kill shelter once a week when he first moved to San Diego, but had fallen out of the practice after he had gotten back from Costa Rica. Now, thrust back into the old memories, he smiled. Eric glanced around the familiar room. The lobby was a cramped space consisting of a reception desk, a couple cheap chairs, and a peg board with pictures of the animals. Eric grinned as he found a picture of a happier, more innocent Eric with his arms wrapped around a massive, slobbering Great Dane. It had been taken right before he left for Costa Rica.

A gasp had him spinning around. Behind him was a young, pretty woman with purple streaks through her black locks and a white lab coat covering her _Arctic Monkeys_ shirt. She overcame her shock and ran up and drew Eric into a hug. "Hey, Boss Lady," he murmured in her ear. "How's the fort holding up?"

Dr. Cassandra "Call Me Cass Or You're Fired" Lopez ran the shelter while simultaneously being the resident vet. When she graduated from veterinary school Cass decided that the revolving door of sick animals and pompous pet owners otherwise known as Vet Clinics wasn't for her, and had landed the job running this shelter a couple years before Eric first stumbled through the double doors with a stray cat in his arms. She had been the one to encourage Eric to volunteer, and she had been more of a friend than a boss to the boy. Cass still ran a tight ship in her little domain, but she knew how to have fun while she was at it.

Cass pulled back, staring at Eric intently. "My God, Eric," she murmured. "They said you were-"

"Dead?" he finished with sardonic twist to his lips. "The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

Cass punched his arm. "Seriously, Eric?"

"What?" he defended. "Do you have any idea how rare it is to get the chance to say that line? How can you not expect me to use it?"

Cass rolled her eyes. "Same old Kirby, I see."

"Need any help? I mean, I know it's been a while, and you've probably got someone else filling my shift, but I was hoping…"

Cass shook her head. "Saturday at two was always your shift. When they told me you had been in an accident and… Well, I couldn't bring myself to find someone to fill it. Then, I heard about… everything, and, well, I guess I was hoping you'd come back when you were ready."

Eric gave her a small, painful smile. He had missed her. She had always been so fiery and passionate and _alive._ She always knew how to make someone laugh. "I'm late for my shift, then."

She cleared her throat. "Right," she said decisively. "Now, no slacking off. You've got a lot of work to catch up on."

Eric saluted. "Yes, Dr. Cass, ma'am!"

Cass swatted him. "None of your cheek, either."

Eric grinned, laughing, as he walked towards the door that led to the kennels. As he passed the reception desk, a crumpled piece of paper caught his eye. "Abusing the tabloids again, Cass? You know, if we were sticking to tradition we'd be abusing them together."

Cassandra was one of those people that bought the cheap rags for the sole reason of mocking them. Every Saturday she would pick up the ones that proclaimed that the Royal Family were really aliens and the only reliable facts would be the day that the paper was printed on (and sometimes not even then), so that she and Eric could mock them in concert before ceremoniously crumpling them up and having a competition as to who could throw more of the papers into the recycling bin across the room.

Cass looked decidedly shifty. "Those are nothing. And you're late for work, remember? You need to go catch up rather than reading that trash."

Eric glanced at her warily. "So I'll stay behind late, then. Besides, we always read these. What could be so bad that…." Eric's eyebrows flew up as he read the story. "Oh. Well, that's one I haven't heard before."

The ruthlessly smashed paper had a grainy photograph of Dr. Grant along with the caption, **WHY HE REALLY WENT TO SORNA. THE TRUTH ABOUT HIS CONNECTION TO ERIC KIRBY** in massive block letters. He had quickly found the article and read it. Honestly, it wasn't the worst thing they had ever claimed. Their "tell-all" relayed the "truth:" Eric was really the secret love child of a torrid affair between Alan and his mother, and Dr. Grant had in reality gone to Isla Sorna to save his son.

"You're not mad?" Cass said cautiously.

Eric snorted. "You do realize that since the Jurassic Park Incident was revealed, they've said that Dr. Grant's had torrid affairs with Dr. Degler, Dr. Malcolm, Julia Roberts, John Hammond, Harrison Ford, Billy, my father, Angelina Jolie, half of the cast of _Friends,_ and, oh yeah, _the Queen of England?_ This is mild in that's not half so bad as it is for Dr. Malcolm. Honestly, how can they say that he was seen with Audrey Hepburn _and_ Marilyn Monroe on New Year's Eve at the turn of the century? They were both dead!"

Cass looked stunned for a moment, before she shook her head and continued. "No, are you mad at me for buying it?"

Eric furrowed his brow. "Why would I be? You always buy the crappy newspapers. We read them together, remember?"

"It objectifies you! It's making money by lying about your personal life! And I was one of the people they made money off of!"

Eric shrugged. "It's annoying, _really_ annoying, don't get me wrong. I'm really fed up with being stalked by these reporters; it's freaking me out. But anyone stupid enough to actually believe what they're peddling deserves to be fleeced, and it would be hypocritical to get mad at the people who buy it for laughs, seeing as I used to do the same thing. Now," he said, holding up the rag. "Shall we commence with the ceremonial Destruction of Falsehoods?"

Cass stared at him for a long moment before letting out a choked, slightly hysterical laugh. "Sure. Though, I've got to warn you I've been practicing my aim since I last saw you; you won't be able to win so easily this time."

Eric snorted. "Keep telling yourself that, Boss Lady. I spent the summer nailing dilophosaurus in the heads with rocks; I _kill_ at Garbage Basketball." He let a crumpled piece of paper sail through the air; it landed dead center in the green bin.

Cass was staring at him. "How can you joke about that?"

Eric shrugged. "If I can't joke about my near death experiences, what can I joke about?" It wasn't like he was joking about the troodons; all in all, the dilophosaurus hadn't been that traumatizing, except for the time one tried to eat Dr. Grant. In a twisted sense, a lot of his antics on that island were funny, if you had a somewhat dark sense of humor.

"Um, how about _not_ your near death experiences?"

Eric shrugged, His title defended, he turned towards the door, ready to work.

"Hey, Eric?" Cass said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're back."

Eric smiled. "Me too."

* * *

"Buddy, I can wait just as long as you can. I'm not going anywhere."

Eric continued the stare down between himself and the dissenter. Then, he raised his hand again. "Eyes on me."

The scruffy dog before him perked up, his mangled ear shooting in the air. Buddy was a six month veteran of the shelter, and Eric was hoping that they could find a family for the dog soon, but at the moment it seemed unlikely. Buddy had exactly one and a half ears, a mottled coat, and mismatched eyes, one pale blue and the other dark brown. While he and Cass found him adorable, the rest of the dog-loving community did not agree. So, Eric came up with a plan. Sooner or later, they'd find someone who found the canine cute also, but those prospective families may still forgo the loveable mutt for one of the fresh-faced, eternally bouncing pups. However, if Buddy came well-trained they might choose him over something that would still chew on the couch cushions. The only logical step was for Eric to figure out how to train him. He had gone to the library and picked up every dog training guide he could find, researched Pavlov's experiments with dogs and classical conditioning, and even gone to a seminar on animal training, in order to develop something that may succeed. And if it did, he'd extend his training program to the rest of the shelter's occupants. It would be a big time commitment, but the animals were worth it. It wasn't that he was finding excuses to hide at the shelter. Absolutely not.

He loved the shelter. He loved the dogs and the cats and the occasional rabbit that found their way into these hallowed walls. And if he felt more comfortable around animals than he did people… Well, it was only natural considering how strange everyone was acting, right? And if he still couldn't walk into the kennels if the lights were turned off because the reflective eyes made him think of troodons, then at least he wasn't jumping at random noises more. Being around animals was _helping._ Every time he went to the shelter he walked away feeling calmer, and with a better handle on things. He had only returned to work here a little over a month ago, and his mental state had already improved. It was more than any psychiatrist he had seen could boast.

Eric sucked in a deep breath. "Okay. This time for sure." He jerked his hand as he began to walk backwards. "And we're moving."

Buddy followed him, trotting happily through the winding halls of the kennels. This was definitely an improvement. When they had started, Eric couldn't even get Buddy to stand up on command. He raised his palm towards Buddy. "Stop."

Buddy stopped. Eric faced his palm to the ground. "Lie down."

Buddy laid down. Eric spun his index finger. "Roll over."

Buddy rolled on his back and back into seated position. Eric jerked his hand up. "Stand up."

Buddy complied. Eric pointed his index towards the ceiling. "Reach for the sky."

The canine hopped on its hind legs, holding his paws towards the roof. A smile quirked at Eric's lips. He made a 'finger gun' with his thumb and index and jerked it once. "Play dead."

Dramatically, Buddy flopped backwards off of his hind legs and laid prone on the ground. For several moments, he was still… Then, a pale blue eye peeked into sight as Buddy glanced at Eric. Eric grinned. "Good boy!" he enthused. Buddy hopped up excitedly and waddled over to Eric, who was holding out a dog treat. "You are going to rock that next meet-and-greet; I can feel it," he praised as Buddy slathered him with slobbery kisses. For the thousandth time, Eric wished he could take the dog home with him, but his father was allergic. "You want to go show Cass?" he asked as he lugged the dog into his arms. "Let's go show Cass."

Eric _loved_ the animal shelter.

As he pushed open the door of the kennels, he called out, "Hey, Cass! Come see my star pupil-"

A camera flash greeted him. Eric's grin fell from his face as he took in the scene before him. A red-faced Cass was glaring at a overweight, greasy man with all of her Latino fury. Said man, completely ignorant to the peril his life was in, flashed him a nicotine stained grin and said, "Hey, Eric! Big smiles!"

Eric most certainly did not have a big smile for this man.

Someone had found out about the shelter. Somehow, this man had figured out that he was volunteering here and had come, _to the shelter,_ to find him.

Eric felt… violated. This was _his space._ It had already gotten to the point that he couldn't even leave his own house without being bombarded; there was no respite! The shelter was the one place he didn't have to be Eric Kirby, Dinosaur Disaster Survivor Extraordinaire; here, he was just Eric, a kid that was most certainly _not_ okay but was slowly getting better. Why was it that the _freaking press corps_ felt the need to take every place he felt comfortable in?

Cass bustled between them, giving the man her patented _I-have-a-taser-and-I'm-a-bit-trigger-happy_ look. _"Get. Out,"_ she snarled. The now dangerously oblivious man continued snapping pictures. He gave her a lazy smile. "Come on, sweetheart, don't be like that. How about a nice pic with you, the kid, and the dog? Boys will love you."

Eric watched the scene with a detached sort of horror usually reserved for natural disasters and train crashes. _Dear God, she was actually reaching for her taser._ Eric watched as the bristling Cass reached into her deep lab coat pocket, pinning the man with an enraged stare, about to shock him into oblivion… When suddenly, the entrance swung open. Eric spun around, only to see… "Dr. Malcolm?" he choked out.

The unflappable Ian Malcolm strutted through the doors and took in the scene before him with a raised eyebrow. Eric stuttered, "What… How…"

"Your parents told me you were here. Now, come on," he said, walking forward and snatching Buddy from his hands before wincing at the dog's appearance and passing him to a dumbfounded Cass. "We've got things to do, places to be, and not a lot of time to do it. Here you go Miss, please take this, uh, lovely specimen of breeding. Wonderful to meet you, _very_ nice taser. Good God, man, why are you still here when she's a second away from knocking you on your ass? Are you really that stupid?" Spinning away from the startled reporter, he swung an arm around Eric's shoulder and bustled him out of the doors, leading him into a bright red convertible. Numbly, Eric climbed in and clicked in his seat belt as the mathematician started the car.

They had been driving for several minutes when Eric calmly asked, "Dr. Malcolm?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood."

"...You live in _Texas."_

Malcolm sighed. "Alright, kid, you caught me. The truth is, I need help… It's my daughter's birthday and I have no idea what to get her. She's a few years older than you," he said, eyeing Eric intently. "So what do girls around your age like? Barbies? Scented candles? Volkswagens?"

Eric stared at him incredulously. "So, let me get this straight. Your daughter's birthday was coming up..."

"Yes."

"And you didn't know what to get her…"

"Yep."

"So you decided to drive to San Diego, from _Texas,_ to pick up a kid that has never met your daughter, and ask his opinion?"

"That about covers it."

Eric stared at him.

Malcolm yielded. "Look, it really is my daughter's birthday. Her mother has some work thing in France so I'm driving up to San Francisco to pick her up so that she can spend the next couple weeks with me. I just made a pit stop here."

Eric kept staring at him.

"... Also, what's this I hear about a Dr. Snyder?"

And the truth is revealed. "It's nothing," Eric denied.

"It didn't sound like nothing when your parents told me about it."

Dr. Snyder had been yet another member of Eric's revolving door of psychiatrists. Every single one of them had tried to "help him heal" and every single one of them had failed. It wasn't so much of a testament to their skill as therapists (though some of them had been truly terrible), as Eric's unusual situation. Strangely enough, a kid getting stranded alone on a dinosaur infested island for two months had never come up in the history of medicine. Kidnapping victims were more common than anyone would like to admit, and there had been one or two minors that had been shipwrecked on a remote island (though these were few and far between), but no one had ever encountered a case like Eric's, so no one was quite sure how to deal with it. All of his therapists had had theories, of course, but all of them had met with failure. Dr. Snyder had just been one of many. Granted, he was one of the worst and the most enduring, but he was still just one of many. Eric just could just tolerate him a little (lot) less than all of the others.

Whenever he went to a session with the doctor, Snyder would go on and on about denial and coming to terms with what had happened. He wasn't in denial. He _knew_ what happened. He knew better than anyone else. He just wasn't about to flaunt what had happened to the world. What's worse, the man _wouldn't listen._ Every time Eric actually made the effort to try to explain something to him, he would just make a noncommittal sound and plow through with whatever he had been jawing about. He wouldn't stop going on about how it was okay to cry! Eric knew that it would be okay to cry. He knew that there was nothing wrong with it. _He just couldn't anymore._ A few weeks after Erc first started seeing him, he got fed up with the humdrum and asked to go to the bathroom, where he promptly climbed out the window and took off down the street. That experience had been the last straw. No more psychiatrists, not for him.

Of course, he hadn't expected Malcolm to drive here from _Texas._

"Look, it really is nothing. I'm getting better; I promise."

Malcolm didn't look convinced. Eric changed the subject. "Thanks for that earlier. Interrupting the reporter, I mean. You know… They're probably gonna say that _you're_ my dad now."

Ian snorted. "Oh, yeah, I heard you were secretly a Grant. I can see that. Lack of respect for higher level mathematics must run in the family. So… Birthday presents. Any ideas?"

"I'm not that great with girls. Or people in general. Maybe you should get her a pony; every kid wants a pony at some point in their life."

"..."

"She already has a pony, doesn't she?"

"Any other ideas?"

Eric paused for a moment, then grinned. "I've got the perfect idea."

Ian only stayed in town for a few hours before continuing on his way to San Francisco. They drove around the sights ("...and this is the street that the Rex almost managed to chomp my bumper…"), debated animal behaviorism ("Are you crazy? There's no way the Titanosaur was migratory!"), and not long after he arrived Dr. Malcolm was on his way, Buddy riding shotgun with a bright red bow wrapped around his neck ("Kelly will love him, and he'll drive my ex crazy...").

The day had been eventful, all things considered. Cass had avoided a lawsuit for electrocuting a member of the press, Buddy got a home… and Malcolm had managed to elicit a promise from Eric to try talking to someone about the things that were troubling him, even if it wasn't a psychiatrist.

* * *

"What the hell is this?"

Eric eyed the man warily as he walked in kitchen. "Hello to you too, Dr. Grant."

For the first time since Eric had met him, Dr. Grant seemed legitimately upset at him. "Eric," he said sternly. "What is this?"

"I'm pretty sure it's self explanatory."

"Eric," his mom said sharply. "Dr. Grant drove a long way for an explanation, and your father and I want one too."

Eric blinked and stared at the adults gathered around the kitchen table. Dear God, this actually looked like an intervention. "Don't you live in Colorado?"

"I had a lecture nearby and I thought it would be better to handle this in person - you know what? Not the point! We are discussing _this,"_ he said sternly, sliding the innocuous piece of paper across the table.

Internally, Eric groaned. While he knew it would have probably caused trouble, he had been hoping Dr. Grant would take it, no questions asked. Foolish, he knew, but he had still done it. "It's a check; I thought that it's purpose was pretty clear."

"Eric, this is a check for-"

"For how much you are owed for coming to Sorna," Eric finished firmly. "It's the payment you agreed upon, so it's the payment you're getting."

"Eric, it's not your job to pay off our debts," his father broke in, frowning.

"But I was the reason you got it in the first place! It was _my fault!"_

The three of them stared at his outburst. "Eric-" his mother began, but Eric cut her off.

"Look, I don't need the money, and I don't _want_ it. So keep it, give it to Billy, use it to fund a dig, whatever, just… just don't give it to me," he said desperately. Then, Eric turned and ran out of the room, pushing through the hallway and out of the front door. Thankfully, the press had abandoned their post when they realized camping out in front of his house wasn't getting them any pictures, and Paris Hilton had gotten into some relationship drama so they had run off to go stalk her instead. He was down the sidewalk like a shot, and stumbled to a stop at a bench, where he sat down heavily.

He knew he couldn't keep escaping, keep running away from his problems, but for now, it was the best coping mechanism he could come up with. You can only improve one step at a time, right?

The check had been stupid, but… Well, the idea had gotten stuck in his mind considering what last week had been. He had overheard his parents talking about starting a payment schedule to repay Dr. Grant, and had decided to pay it off himself. Besides, it's not like he couldn't afford it.

A _lot_ of people that Eric had never met before decided to donate funds to him when the story first broke. Eric had no idea _why,_ but a lot of things that were happening back then had confused him. He and his parents had floundered at what to do with it, until they eventually decided to put it all into a college savings account for him, which ended up becoming enough that it would fund _several_ doctorates if he so wished to pursue them. However, Eric couldn't touch those funds until he went to college.

Then, he published his journal.

He hadn't published the entire thing; in fact, it had been heavily edited. Pretty much everything that had been printed pertained to a dinosaur behavior that he had observed; none of it was the deeper, emotional sections that he had written in his darkest of moments. As to _why_ he had published it was more complicated. Part of it was because nobody had stopped questioning him as to what had happened, and he was hoping if he gave them some kind of answer they would stop (they hadn't, not really). Another part of it was that really, nobody had ever gotten to study dinosaurs up close for an extended period of time, and it was a crime against science if he withheld his findings from them. In actuality, the only questions he hadn't minded answering were the pure, unemotional questions from the paleontologists and animal behaviorists that had called to grill him. Another part of him was hoping that if people read it, they would understand that dinosaurs weren't some kind of controllable variable; they were _animals_ and they needed to be respected. But a really, really big reason behind his decision were the survivors of the San Diego Incident. So many of them were still coming to him, trying to figure out what was so _freaking special_ about him that he had lived when their loved ones had died (they didn't seem to understand that the answer was _nothing_ ). And Eric… he just couldn't take it anymore. They needed _some_ kind of closure, _something_ to let them know that _there was nothing they could have done._ And well, Eric had devoted many a page to the abilities of the Rex. If anything could help them find the answers they were looking for, it would be his journal.

So, for whatever the reason, he had published it. And then people wouldn't stop buying it. It was _ridiculous_ how many people bought it. And in the confusion of the sudden insurgence of funds, they had been at a loss what to do with it. They had it in a minor's account, but they were still working on a better long-term solution.

And in the chaos, Eric wrote a check with numbers he had wrangled from an unsuspecting Billy, and then mailed it to Dr. Grant.

Eric wasn't entirely certain about the legality of the situation. Did he need parental approval for such a large withdrawal? Could the check even be deposited? He wasn't all that sure; this had been one of his more impulsive decisions. But in the end, it didn't really matter, not to him. It hadn't even made a dent in his newly acquired wealth, wealth that he still wasn't entirely sure what to do with. His parents refused to take any of it, and Eric certainly didn't need that much money.

"Can I sit?"

Eric glanced up to see Dr. Grant standing next to the bench. He shrugged and scooted over, not looking at his companion.

"Eric… What happened? You were happy, opening up to people, having fun at the shelter… And then suddenly you go radio silent for a few weeks and I end up getting a check in the mail last week! What's wrong?"

For a long time, Eric was silent. Then, "It was Ben's birthday last week."

Alan froze.

Eric cleared his throat and continued, staring fixedly at his hands. "He would have been turning forty-three. He, uh, didn't have any family. No siblings, no spouse, no kids, no parents. Nobody to miss him. Just me and my mom. Not many people seem to remember him anymore. They didn't really mention him all that much when the story broke. But I remember him. I remember how he would play catch with me and how he would call me bud a - and how he screamed when the velociraptors attacked. I - I remember how much he bled before they finally ended him." Eric sat there, sucking in ragged, painful breaths before he continued. "He was going to propose to my mom. That night, after we got back from parasailing, at dinner. It's why we chose to go parasailing that day, actually. He told my mom he had booked some fancy restaurant for dinner and she wanted us out of the way while she was getting ready. He hadn't wanted to tip her off to the surprise, so he agreed to go that day. Ben asked me for _permission,"_ Eric said, twisting his lips into a painful smile. "To propose to my mom, that is. Before we went to Costa Rica. I - I told him to ask her. They made each other happy. I haven't told my parents about any of this. I - I just don't - don't know _how._ I don't know how to tell them that he wanted to be a part of our family, or how he died, or that I can't even bring myself to hate the animal that killed him. I just…. I just don't know anymore."

"When we were on Sorna, you spoke about Ben," Alan said tentatively. "You said that he told you to run, that he was trying to protect you."

Slowly, Eric nodded in reply.

"It sounded like he cared about you a lot. And if he did he wouldn't want you to spend your entire life dwelling on what had happened to him. He'd want you to be happy."

Eric let loose a short, bitter laugh. "It's not that simple."

"Things rarely are."

"I keep seeing them. Ben and those men on the boat and Udesky and those mercenaries I never even _met_. They're dead because of me."

"Eric, no they're not."

"But I choose the-"

"They're _not!"_ Alan bit out forcefully. "Blame fate, InGen, nature, whatever, but don't blame yourself, _because it's not your fault."_

Eric was silent. Then, "Did they have families? I mean, I tried to find out, but I didn't have full names on most of them and I couldn't find the ones that I did. If they do… I want to help them. I know it can't replace who they lost, but… I want to help."

Understanding dawned on Dr. Grant's face. "That's why you sent the check. You couldn't find any of the families to help, so you sent it to the person you knew."

Eric shrugged. "We _do_ owe you that money. I'm can just pay it back in full. I still don't want that back, by the way."

"Eric, this is a lot of money; I can't take this from you."

He snorted. "Wait ten minutes. People will have bought enough copies of the book to replace that amount."

"Fame bothering you?"

Eric scrunched up his face. "The public's fascination with me disturbs me on various levels."

Alan shifted uncomfortably. "They do get some pretty strange ideas."

Eric shot him a sarcastic grin. "Oh yeah, _Dad,_ I heard that you had another dalliance with _Lizzie."_

"I have no idea where they got that from! I've never even been to England!"

Eric laughed.

* * *

 **Have you guys ever Google searched tabloid headlines? The first thing that pops up is** Alien Bible Found, They Worship Oprah! **And that is one of the more mild headlines. This was a beast of a chapter. Long, long time to write. So, here we find out how Eric became interested in animal training.**

 **Also, remember how in chapter six, Alan asked Eric what his favorite dinosaur was growing up, and Eric answered it** _ **was**_ **the velociraptor. Was. Past tense. Here, he's telling Charlie it** _ **is**_ **the velociraptor. Present tense.**

 **This was the main chapter where Eric struggles with his mental health. While he's going to have problems throughout the story, because trauma like this doesn't go away, this was the brunt of it. Wow, he only has two chapters left for being Eric Kirby, and in the second of those he's in the process of becoming Owen Grady. This is gonna be interesting. Stay tuned!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed! Special thanks to** Rin-s666, black dragon, bunny's pumpkin patch, Apache Thunderbird, icanhascamaro, LightningScar, Countdown, KK, GoddessOfTheOceanAndMishief, **and** Guest **for reviewing!**

 **Writer's Block is a scary, scary place. I had so many ideas for this chapter, but for days I couldn't figure out how to start it. I have created** Of Astronomers and Astronauts: Outtakes **for occasions such as these. They are scenes I had written in my head for the story, but couldn't put in because they messed with the flow. If you're interested, check it out.**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Eleven:** In Which Billy is an Enabler, Eric and Kelly Hold the Ultimate Fighting Championship in Malcolm's Basement, and No One is Nice to the Eccentric Billionaires

"Hey Eric!" Billy called. "Grab that thing and toss it in the truck, would you?"

Eric complied, picking up the strange, multi-pronged device and setting in in the back of the pickup truck idling by the curb. "So," he mused, looking at the vast assortment of things placed in the vehicle, "this is what the start of a dig looks like, huh?"

Billy grinned as he tugged a tarp over the top of the truck bed, securing the objects. "Were you expecting to ceremoniously break a champagne bottle against the side of the truck? Because while we have some beer bottles that may work, it's a waste of good booze and it could scratch the paint job."

Eric glanced over to where his parents were harassing Dr. Grant about the "safety" of this all. Personally, Eric couldn't see the dangers of a place where the only dinosaurs had been dead for millions of years, but he supposed he was biased. He could understand where his parents were coming from, though. It was the first time they had been apart since Sorna; it made sense they would be worried. ( _He_ was worried. Not that he'd admit it.)

His parents had gotten remarried. When they first returned from the island, his parents had "dated." They hadn't wanted to repeat the mistakes of their last marriage; they were planning on taking it slow. However, a few weeks before summer began they had re-tied the knot, much to Eric's approval. Now, they were going on a second honeymoon. For a while, they had been wondering what to do with Eric, until Dr. Grant called, inviting him to spend the summer at the dig site, where there was a dearth of annoying reporters. Eric had protested at first, not wanting to impose, until Dr. Grant flat out told him that as the person funding said dig site, he was well within his rights to tag along. Billy would be there too, thankfully. Since he had missed out on the required credits due to his sojourn to Sorna, he needed to attend this summer to get his PhD.

"Okay, Eric, we'll be heading off," his mom said, embracing him. His dad quickly followed suit, hugging him tightly before releasing.

"Okay, bye. Love you."

Neither of them moved.

"Mom… Dad… It'll be fine. Dr. Grant and Billy will be there; it'll be safe."

"Okay, okay, you're right," his mom said flustered. "Just… Call everyday, okay? Even if it's late."

"I will."

"Alright. We - we love you." Then, before they could over think it, his parents forced themselves to walk off to their parked car and drive away. Eric watched their vehicle the entire time it was insight, ignoring the clenching of his chest. He was being ridiculous. They would be fine; he would see them again in a few months. Quickly, he tore his eyes away from the now empty road, glancing at Billy. The grad student was watching him intently, silently asking if he was okay. Roughly, Eric nodded.

Billy cleared his throat. "Alright, everyone listen up!" he called. The rest of the students milling around the fleet of cars brought their attention towards him. "Is everything loaded? Good. Drivers, you know the route. The gas tanks are filled, but make sure that you don't run out of fuel on the way there. We don't need a repeat of last year. If you need to stop at a rest stop, then stop. We don't all have to get there at the same time. It's a long way to Montana, so don't rush yourselves. Also, this is Eric," he said, nodding towards the young boy. "He's going to be joining us this summer. Now, everyone to your car!"

"Eric," Billy continued. "You can ride in the truck with me and Sam. Sam," he said, turning towards the pretty, dark-haired girl next to him, "this is Eric Kirby. Eric, Samantha MontGomery. This will be her second summer at the site."

Eric nodded to her. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

After the three of them slid into the seat, Sam leaned over to Eric and said, "I must warn you, a lot of us were really excited when we found out you would be on this dig too."

Eric stiffened. He didn't want to be rude but… He had been hoping for a summer without gawkers. Without having to be _that_ Eric Kirby.

Sam noticed his expression. "Don't worry, Dr. Grant weeds out the fangirls in his Introductory to Paleontology. You're stuck with dinosaur nerds through and through. Unfortunately, that means we're all dying to grill you about the behaviors you observed. There's a list and everything."

Eric smiled in relief. "I don't mind." And he didn't. He was fine with debating dinosaurs; he _liked_ to discuss their behaviors. He only ever had a problem with those who wanted to know about the pain and the blood and _Ben -_ About the things that hurt to think about.

Billy cut in. "What Sam's not mentioning is that she was one of the ring leaders writing the list of questions, and now she's got you trapped in a confined space until we reach Montana."

Sam glared at him. Eric laughed. "Let the Spanish Inquisition begin, I guess."

* * *

Life at the dig site was dusty, sweaty, and filthy. They all lived in tiny, two man teepees and had to drive into town once every week for showers. The passage of time was marked by beer cans (or Coke cans, in Eric's case), and you could go weeks without figuring out what day it was. Most days were spent crouched over a small square of dirt, oblivious to the passage of the sun overhead. The Montana desert was sweltering during the day and freezing at night, and everyday they risked either heatstroke or frostbite.

And Eric loved every second of it.

He loved the dig site. He loved the way the dust would crawl up your clothes as you laid in the dirt. He loved how everyone there was so focused on dinosaurs that they didn't give a damn about his fame. He loved how they would joke and laugh and occasionally come scampering up to him, hoping he had observed some behavior on Sorna that would resolve a bet about their theories. He loved how they didn't take everything he said as gospel, but actually _debated_ his theories with him. He loved how it got a little bit easier to breathe while he was there, finally a change from the constant state of suffocation he was existing in before. But most of all, he loved that for the first time since Sorna, he was just _Eric._

They hadn't just handed him a shovel and told him to dig when he arrived. On the contrary, first he was on, "These are fossils; _don't touch them"_ duty. Dr. Grant had told him with a smirk that he had spent his entire life studying dinosaurs to Eric's eight weeks observing the genetically engineered theme park monsters, so he would be the judge of when (if) Eric could get near the bones. At first, he was told to try and figure out the "Thumper," because the computer geek they usually dragged along to operate it had backed out last second, and no one knew anything about the damn thing other than the fact that you could drop it off a cliff and it wouldn't break (which they knew because they had _tried_ ). Also, he was told he was not, under any circumstances, allowed to let Dr. Grant touch it.

Eric quickly discovered _why_ they had dropped it off a cliff. What he couldn't figure out is why they hadn't left it where it landed.

However, after much hands-firmly- _off_ instruction, Eric was promoted to, "Here's a toothbrush. Use it _gently_ on this very small fossil, and if you scratch it the next toothbrush we use will be _yours_ " duty.

Eric really, really loved the dig site.

But those weren't the only things Eric was working on.

* * *

Billy pulled the dirty tarp off with a flourish. "Ta-da."

Eric raised an eyebrow. "A piece of crap motorcycle?"

Billy looked scandalized. "A vintage 1974 Harley-Davidson Shovelhead," he corrected.

"In this case vintage meaning 'piece of crap?'"

Billy glared at him. Eric raised his hands defensively. "What? It's true! If you kicked that thing's tire, it'd probably burst." It _was_ true; that motorcycle had certainly seen better days. It was rusty, creaky, and appeared to be one "Born to Be Wild" moment from shaking apart. Eric would be seriously surprised if it was even street legal. To prove his point, Eric lightly kicked the front wheel. They both watched as one of the side mirrors creaked and fell, shattering on the ground. Eric looked at Billy.

"I bought it in town for fifty bucks, all right?"

"I think the other guy got the better end of the deal."

"For now," Billy promised. "But not for long. We will be fixing it up."

Eric raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that I have absolutely no idea how to fix a motorcycle, right?"

"But I do," Billy countered. "And I can teach you. It'll be fun. Besides, you get to learn a new skill, and I get free slave labor. It's a win-win!"

After thinking for a moment, Eric smiled. "How do we start?"

Fixing the Harley was complicated, back-breaking work. On more than one occasion, Eric and Billy found themselves glaring at an engine that refused to start before running off to the town to buy more parts. They stumbled through the job like blind men in a maze, and sometimes it felt like that, too. It took nearly the entire summer to get it into street-worthy condition, but somehow, they had managed.

How that led to them sneaking it out of the camp at five in the morning, Eric wasn't sure.

"Shhh," Billy hissed. "Not so loud."

"I'm sorry, have you seen this thing?" Eric hissed back. "We barely qualify as mechanics, let alone miracle workers! This rust bucket will be creaking for the rest of our natural born lives!"

Before Billy could reply, one of the industrial lights they used for when the dig ran late flickered on, illuminating the intimidating site of Dr. Grant sitting in a lawn chair, taking a long, slow swig of beer as if it was the most natural thing to do before daybreak. "Going somewhere?"

"Uh… Just moving the bike to better cover. It looks like it might rain," Billy stammered.

It did not look like it might rain.

"Really?" Dr. Grant asked. "The weatherman predicted sun."

"You know the weather," Eric cut in. "Not reliable at all. Ask Dr. Malcolm, he'll give you a lecture about the chaos behind it."

"You haven't moved the bike any other time this summer," Alan observed. "Or perhaps I'm mistaken. After all, I could have been asleep, seeing as you seem to like to move it at five am."

"Right," Billy said. "The thing is…"

Dr. Grant rolled his eyes, downed the last of his beer, and got up from the chair before walking away. "Don't do anything that will make his parents kill us both," he called over his shoulder.

Eric was confronted with the startling realization that Dr. Grant may have superpowers. Or at least qualify as a ninja.

Deciding not to look this particular gift horse in the mouth, Eric and Billy rushed out of the camp, making sure to get out of earshot before starting the engine and driving away. A half hour later, they were situated on a remote desert road as the sun slowly rose in the east.

"Ready?" Billy asked.

"Is this legal?" Eric replied.

Billy paused. "No, not at all. That's why we're doing it in the middle of nowhere."

Billy had deemed it the next segment of his "Valuable Lessons of Life" (and according to him, the capitals were most certainly necessary). He was teaching Eric how to ride the Harley - without crashing.

"It'll be fine," he continued. "We've been over this a thousand times, and this old thing doesn't actually have enough power to get to a speed that does much damage. Besides, I was your age when I drove my first motorcycle."

"You also jump off of cliffs for fun," Eric shot back. "You're not exactly a shining example of safe pastimes."

"You're not exactly one to talk, dino boy. Just make sure not to go too fast; you don't have enough experience for high speeds. Ready?"

Taking a deep breath, Eric turned the ignition and listened as the engine rattled to life. Slowly, he balanced the bike and took off down the road, gaining speed as he went.

He could never, _ever_ tell his parents about this.

As he went faster, Eric noticed something. The weight on his chest, the one that had been sitting on his lungs since he returned from Sorna, was easing.

He could _breathe._

Eric accelerated faster and faster, ignoring the fact that he was speeding far past what Billy had suggested. His heart beat in his chest and the wind roared past his face and Eric felt _alive._

Soon (much sooner than he liked), he came back to his senses. He slowed the bike to a crawl and turned around, heading past a harried Billy at a much more sedate pace. When he finally reached the boy, who was snapping off complaints about how that was _not_ slow, Eric grinned.

"That was _awesome."_

* * *

It was a long, boring road to Texas.

The dig site had finished. Winter came early to the Montana desert, and the group had been forced to pack up and head back to the University. However, the road did not end there for Eric Kirby, Dr. Alan Grant, and _Dr._ Billy Brennan (Eric didn't care if Billy hadn't officially graduated yet; he was a doctor). Malcolm, of all people, was having a cookout. He had called it the "We All Survived Really Weird Deadly Stuff, Let's Get Together And Gripe About It Cookout," where attendance was mandatory, and guests were limited to the survivors of the islands - but only the ones that they liked. Apparently there was a no "evil corporate mercenaries, crazy old men with a God complex, lunatic hunters, dangerously stupid activists, lawyers in general, and/or idiots" allowed policy at the Malcolm household. The three had tried to play the "Montana" card, but apparently a Dr. Sarah Harding was coming from Africa, so they couldn't back out. Which left Eric, Billy, and Alan all crammed in a small truck as they rattled down to Texas at the end of the summer.

All in all, it had been one of the best summers Eric had ever had - not that that was a high standard (see: Sorna). No one had died, he had actually had fun, and the attention of the press was finally dwindling down. If they managed to get through Dr. Malcolm's get together alive, he'd actually count this summer as a success.

Dr. Malcolm lived off-campus. He claimed it was because he had moved there after they had revoked his tenure and liked the place, but Eric thought it may have something to do with the fact that it was more secluded than a campus residence. Still, as they rolled up the driveway to the doctor's house, Eric couldn't help but agree with Malcolm's reasoning; it was a nice place.

Eric gratefully climbed out of the truck, his cramped legs wobbling beneath him. As he became re-acquainted with the Earth, a familiar, slobbering presence ran up to greet him. "Buddy!"

The dog was just as deliriously happy to see him as always. "How's my best bud?" Eric laughed "Did you miss me?"

"Should I be jealous?" a voice questioned.

Eric glanced up to see a pretty African American girl watching the two of them. "Kelly, right? I'm Eric; I work at the same animal shelter your dad got Buddy at."

"I recognize you from the papers. Should I be worried that you're stealing my dog? Buddy seems to be pretty attached."

Eric smiled. "Nah, don't worry about him. Buddy's always had a thing for pretty girls."

Kelly snorted. "Smooth."

Pickup lines were another one of Billy's "Valuable Lessons of Life." Eric wasn't too sure if he had grasped the execution part of that yet, but he had plenty of time to practice. "That bad, huh?" he asked, wincing.

"Not so bad for a beginner, but you'll need better material if you're going to get anywhere."

"I'll make sure to work on it, then."

"Come on in, Dino Whisperer," she said laughing.

Eric followed behind, feeling the blast of cool air hit him as he entered Malcolm's home, Buddy squirming ahead of him. Billy and Dr. Grant had already entered, and it seemed that they were the last to arrive. Two older kids were greeting the paleontologist with a hug while Dr. Sattler chatted with a red-haired woman and Malcolm flitted amongst the groups. Eric's parents were already there also, their faces lighting up when he walked through the door. The pair greeted him with a relieved hug, which Eric happily returned. While he had loved the summer at the dig site, he still had missed his parents. Absently, he wondered how he'd ever be able to leave home for college; he'd probably have a heart attack worrying about the potential dangers. Trying to take his mind off of the future, he asked his parents, "How was your trip?"

For a while, Eric listened to his parents' rambling explanation of their vacation in Boston, until Dr. Malcolm dragged the small family around to meet everyone. Eric found himself in a conversation with Dr. Harding, until Kelly rescued him from the realm of adult small talk and dragged him down to the basement.

"Should I be worried about a kidnapping?" he quipped as they walked down the steps. "Because if so, I should point out that you don't have the best alibi."

Kelly rolled her eyes. "Please, if I put my mind to it, they'd never catch me."

"You know, I believe you. Your dad told me you took out a raptor with stuff you learnt from your gymnastics team; I really don't want to find out what else you've picked up along the way."

They stumbled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, and Eric caught sight of the Murphy siblings seated on a couch. He hadn't had much interaction with the pair, just a brief introduction earlier that day. Apparently Kelly was better acquainted, she greeted them with an easy, "Hey guys; I found him."

Eric's eyebrows shot up. "You were looking?"

"This isn't the first time the survivors have all gotten together," Lex explained. "The adults usually get lost in some academic debate, so us kids tend to find refuge somewhere away from the rest. We thought you might want an escape."

Eric could see what she meant; the others had already started arguing about some theory, and while Eric was no ignorant child, he was by no means on the same level as the adults. And really, none of the people in the basement qualified as an adult. Kelly was only a few years older than him, Tim was barely older than her, and while Lex had already started college, she wasn't one of the academics upstairs yet. "Thanks," he said.

Talking with them was easier than anyone else his age he had spoken with since returning. There was none of the cautious, stilted speech that he had come to expect from peer interaction. It was… _easy_ talking with them.

"Wait, so you both do martial arts in your free time?" Tim asked, glancing between Eric and Kelly.

The conversation had turned to pastimes. Eric hadn't many of those recently, mainly just the shelter since he no longer was on longer at public school and therefore not on any of the teams. However, he had kept up with his Brazilian Jiu Jitsu lessons, which prompted Kelly into saying that she had taken up Aikido after she returned from Isla Sorna.

"Interesting," the older boy mused, drumming his fingers together evilly.

* * *

"Has anyone seen Eric?" Amanda Kirby asked.

Dr. Alan Grant glanced over at her. He had to admit, now that she was no longer trying (succeeding) to kidnap him, he liked her better. She was more tolerable off of deadly dinosaur islands.

"I think Kelly took him down to the basement around a half hour ago," Dr. Harding mused. Alan didn't know Sarah as well as he did the others; she spent most of her time in Africa. However, he did know that there was a good chance she'd be the next "future (ex) Mrs. Malcolm." Privately, Malcolm had told him that the reason why their relationship worked so well was because they didn't spend an overabundance of time together; there was less of a chance they'd annoy the other into breaking up.

"And they haven't come up since?" Paul said, frowning.

Then, they heard the thumping coming from the lower level.

"What the hell?" Malcolm muttered.

Billy met his suspicious gaze with one of his own. "They couldn't be…" he muttered.

Then, there was a louder thud, and Eric's voice yelped, "Kelly!"

There was a rush for the stairwell, Malcolm in the lead. He threw open the door to the lower level, just in time to see… Kelly flipping Eric onto his back. She looked up with a surprised, "Dad!" before Eric swiped her feet out from under her, causing her to join him on the floor.

She glared at him. "Not fair!" she protested.

"Rule number thirteen," Lex called from over at the couch. "If you take your eyes away from the match, it's just leaving yourself open."

"You two are never making the rules for the fight again," Eric grumbled as they rose back to their feet, watching each other warily. Kelly shot a roundhouse kick towards his head, which Eric easily ducked from, sending a punch of his own. She parried, and they circled each other once more, looking for an opening.

"You two are fighting down here?" Malcolm asked, dumbfounded.

"'Course," Kelly muttered, dodging another blow. "What did you think we were doing?"

No one answered.

Lex rolled her eyes. "Stop distracting them," she demanded. "I have money on this fight."

"Why are you two betting on us, again?" Eric called as he flipped Kelly, only for her to drag him down with her.

"Because it's easy money if we bet correctly," Tim answered. "It's not like we're the ones doing the fighting."

"Ten bucks on Kelly," Billy said, breaking into the conversation.

"Billy!" Eric protested.

As he watched them bicker, Alan was confronted with a startling revelation. They were _kids._

He had always known they were kids, of course; it had been one of the reasons he fought so fiercely to protect them on the island. But after the islands, they had stopped _acting_ like kids.

Lex and Tim had been the quintessential sibling pair before Jurassic Park. Tim would babble, Lex would argue with her brother, and they both just acted like average, everyday kids; there hadn't been a single thing unusual about them. However, after the Park they had changed; the Park had changed them. Lex would be more protective; Tim would be more serious. They had grown up too soon. Alan didn't know Kelly all that well, but according to Malcolm it had been the same thing with her: acting too old, too soon. And as for Eric… He had been acting like a jaded war veteran by the time Alan found him (well technically, Eric had found _him_ ), and time away from Sorna hadn't mellowed him out.

The islands had robbed them of their childhoods.

And in his mind, Alan had somehow slipped into thinking of them as exactly how they acted: small, but none the less mature, adults. And based on the looks on the others' faces, they had fallen into the same trap.

But as they watched the group roughhousing in Malcolm's basement, they finally saw children.

* * *

"You guys can't just _do_ that," Tim grumbled for the tenth time.

"I think we can," Kelly shot back. "In fact, we did. Wouldn't you agree, Eric?"

"Absolutely," he responded. "The rules are on our side. I believe Rule Number Eight was 'No whining about losing.'"

"That was meant to be for the fight," Tim shot back.

"You didn't specify," Kelly replied. "Besides, I think the gambling counts as part of the fight."

Once they had somehow convinced the adults to let them finish the fight, Tim and Lex had decided to make the wagers "official." They had passed around a hat to put the money in, and another hat to place in slips of paper recording the bet that each person was taking.

Kelly had managed to sneak in a couple slips of paper that said both Eric and her were betting on a tie… And then they had simultaneously surrendered during the fight, resulting in a tie.

That'll teach the others to gamble on the two of them.

Eric adjusted an ice pack on his head from where Kelly managed to get in a good shot, and watched as she did the same to one on her shoulder.

He _so_ wanted a rematch. One where they weren't planning on scamming their friends and families out of their money.

Unexpectedly, the doorbell rang. Dr. Malcolm walked out of the room to answer it. Eric heard the door open, then he heard the mathematician begin to swear and shout. Immediately, the entire group exchanged looks and walked out the hallway to see the cause of the commotion.

"...the Hell _out of my house!"_

"Grandpa?" Tim spluttered.

Eric had never met the elderly man leaning heavily on his cane in the doorway, but he had most certainly recognized him.

John Hammond. The mastermind behind Jurassic Park, and by consequence, Isla Sorna. The man that was indirectly - and quite possibly directly, based on how much the man had to do with covering up Eric's "death" - responsible for everything that had happened to him on Sorna.

He knew there was definitely bad blood between the man and Dr. Malcolm, and, to a lesser extent, Dr. Grant and Dr. Sattler. Malcolm couldn't stand Hammond, claiming he was a starry-eyed fool that kept making the same mistakes over and over again. While Grant and Sattler were more reserved, they both concurred that he couldn't realize his own failures.

Then, Eric saw the man standing next to Hammond.

He was definitely as rich as Hammond, based off of his obscenely high-end tailored suit, and a lot younger. The unknown man was standing silently next to the octogenarian, watching them with a charismatic smile.

Slowly, they shuffled inside, much to Malcolm's protests. "Hello Lex, Tim," Hammond greeted, hugging his grandchildren. "My, you've grown since I last saw you. And hello again, Dr. Malcolm, Dr. Sattler, Dr. Grant, Dr. Harding. It's been quite a bit of time since we've seen one another."

"Not long enough," Dr. Malcolm muttered. Dr. Harding slapped him.

The elderly man's gaze froze at where Eric and his parents stood. "You're the Kirby family." Eric stiffened as the man continued, and he felt his parents do the same. "You must know, I'm terribly sorry about what happened to you all. I wanted to apologize in person when you returned, but -"

"What do you want, Hammond?" Alan roughly broke in.

"Ah, right," he said, looking back at the his companion. "This is Simon Masrani. I'm not sure if you're all aware but his company, Masrani Global, purchased InGen after we went bankrupt." Eric knew about the bankruptcy. He had _caused_ the bankruptcy, or at least been a factor in it.

After the truth about Sorna had come out, people had fled screaming (metaphorically speaking) from the dying company. They got rid of the stock as if it was radioactive, and InGen faced numerous lawsuits and federal charges for hiding the truth about the List. The company had failed spectacularly, much to Eric's delight. He had heard that Masrani Global had swooped in and bought it at a bargain, but he had no idea why the CEO was in Malcolm's living room.

"You see," Hammond continued, "I heard about this gathering from Lex and Tim's mother, and there was an unique opportunity we felt would be prudent to share with you."

"Oh, no," Malcolm cut in. "No, no, no. Whenever you show up talking about unique opportunities someone gets eaten. We want no part in it."

"It can't possibly be about going back to the islands," Dr. Sattler reasoned. "Not after everything that has happened. It's not, right?"

The look on Hammond's face was not encouraging. "Masrani Global has decided to open up Jurassic Park -"

The room descended into chaos.

While the other's reacted explosively, Eric froze. He felt numb. People were going to be on one of the islands. There would be dinosaurs there. They were planning on tossing together people and dinosaurs yet again.

 _("What happened to them?!")_

 _("Eric,_ _ **run!**_ _")_

 _(Please, God, let me live.)_

 _("_ _ **Dad!**_ _")_

But for all the bad, he couldn't help but remember the good. He couldn't help but remember Toto and Echo and Rose. He couldn't help but remember his childhood awe at the creatures of his imagination.

And so Eric stood trapped in a sea of memories while the rest of the room shouted obscenities at the eccentric billionaires.

Honestly, they were taking the news better than he expected.

Malcolm was listing the many, many reasons why Chaos made the concept unattainable and moronic; Dr. Grant was shouting that he, the seasoned paleontologist, had barely managed to survive his encounters with dinosaurs, so why the Hell did they think it was a good idea to shove the uneducated masses in a secluded space with the animals; and Billy was asking them, "Are you _crazy,_ or just plain stupid?"

And those were some of the more mild reactions. Doctors Sattler and Harding were very scary.

Somehow, Masrani had managed to calm them down enough for so that he could be heard. "We did not come here to upset you; we came here with a business opportunity. My company is taking every precaution to ensure that the park is safe-"

"Safe?" Dr. Grant spat. "You're all still under the delusion that those islands can be made _safe?"_

"Now, now, Alan," Ellie chimed in bitterly. "I'm sure they've spared no expense."

Masrani shifted awkwardly, finally seeming to realize the magnitude of the hate this group had for those places. _Buddy, you're barely scratching the surface,_ Eric thought.

"You are all in the unique position that you've experienced the failings of the past," he continued. "You have an outlook that can help us from making the same mistakes in the future."

"You want to stop making the same mistakes?" Dr. Malcolm bit out. "Stay the Hell away from those islands."

"We are willing to pay you a substantial amount of money for your assistance on the project," Masrani finished.

"And by assistance, do you mean stamp of approval?" Billy snorted. "No thanks."

"Please, very little is known about these animals. Those that know the most are standing here in this room," Masrani refuted. "Your assistance can save lives. Eric," he said, focusing on the boy, causing him to stiffen. "I understand you did not publish the entirety of your journal. Seeing as it's the only written source out there about the behavior itself of the animals, it's a valuable resource. If you would be willing to sell the complete version to my company-"

"Don't," his mother spat. "Don't you dare speak to my son. Not about that."

Feeling the billionaire's gaze on him, Eric shook his head in the negative. He wouldn't, _couldn't_ sell the rest of the journal. Even if the pain filled context of what he omitted could convince the company to stop the park, he still couldn't do it. It was just too private.

Glancing around the room, Masrani seemed to realize that no one was willing. "Then, I truly cannot convince you to assist? Not even for advice?"

"Sure, don't open the park. Or, get really good liability insurance; you'll need it," Malcolm snorted. "Otherwise, I believe this is one of those, 'Don't let the door hit you on the way out' scenarios."

"Actually, I've got some advice," Eric said, surprising even himself.

"Yes, Eric?" Masrani asked.

Eric looked the man straight in the eyes, hoping that he could convey the importance of what he needed to tell him. "Just don't forget that they're dinosaurs."

* * *

 **Finally done! I'm afraid the only excuse I have for the lateness of this chapter is a sever case of writer's block. That being said, this next part is IMPORTANT! If you only ever read one author's note that I put up, let it be this one. You'll be confused if you don't. Here it is:  
**

 **So, I can't seem to find a solid account of what's going on with this whole InGen/Masrani thing; it seems like the writers of JP decided "Oh! A brand new company would be fun!" and shoved it in. What I can find, is that sometime after JPIII InGen went bankrupt, Masrani bought them, and they opened Jurassic World. But then what the heck is with InGen running around and acting evil? They are so they Hydra of the Jurassic Park universe. And if you didn't get that reference, go watch a Marvel superhero movie, namely one about Captain America. Back on topic, sorry. So, seeing as I couldn't find a definite answer about the InGen situation, I made one up. So Masrani bought InGen, and in true corporate magnate style used horizontal integration (founded by Rockefeller during the Gilded Age, but that's another rant) to take over. Now, I'm operating off of what I learnt about the practice from my high school history class, so forgive me if I'm wrong. Horizontal integration is basically where you take over another company, making it a smaller faction of your company instead of wiping it out completely. So InGen became another cog in the Masrani Global machine. They were still an important part of Jurassic World, but they weren't the end all say in what happened there, which led to Vic Hoskins being evil and sneaky and doing under the table dealings with the military. And I think the movie supports my hypothesis. It's not until Masrani is dead that Vic was able to let loose the raptors; before he was able to block it from happening. And as to how Vic took over, he was the senior executive on the island after Masrani died. There was no CEO and the Board wasn't there. It was chaotic, and he took advantage of the situation. Make sense to anyone but me?**

 **So that was the end of the important part, now here are the tidbits about the chapter I just think you'll find interesting:**

 **The whole part where Dr. Grant told Eric that he had more experience with dinosaurs opposed to Eric's experience with the theme park monsters? That was a reference to chapter six, where Eric used pretty much that same line in reverse to justify him checking for raptors.**

 **The teepees, time being measured by beer, and "Thumper" are all references to the book. If you haven't read it yet, go read it. Like, now.**

 **That's right, Billy taught Eric/Owen about motorcycles. Also, that part where Eric could finally breathe when we was riding it? Let me explain. Eric functions best in high stress, high adrenaline situations, because he was in one for two months straight and now he can't figure out how to function outside of those situations. So he's going to seek out situations that match that description. Like motorcycles… And the Navy… And as Head Velociraptor Trainer on an island inhabited on dinosaurs… I'm basically beating you over the head with foreshadowing at this point.**

 **If you liked the Eric/Kelly interaction, I'm planning on having a chapter about them on** Outtakes **soon, if you're interested.**

 **Next chapter Eric becomes Owen! I'm so excited! And slightly worried about how you'll react. I'd ask you all to guess why, but please don't. It could act as an inadvertent spoiler if anyone but me checks the reviews. (By the way, REVIEW PLEASE!) It's been a wild ride my faithful readers, and it will only get crazier from here. I'll try to get this next chapter out as fast as possible. Thanks for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks to everyone who followed and favorited, and to** Sava-chan, Mindmaze, KK, Chaotician, icanhascamaro, LightningScar, Guest, bunny's pumpkin patch, Billie758657 **for their fantastic reviews! In response to questions:**

Sava-chan: **Yes, the Indominus Incident will still happen. Jurassic World will go down much the same as Jurassic Park III: I will be following the same plot as the movie, but with minor alterations to accommodate the fact that Eric is Owen and vice versa. Every change I have planned out is pretty minor; there's only one idea I have that will constitute as major.**

 **Eric becomes Owen! It's finally here! Okay, this chapter time-jumps to when he's seventeen, just so you know. And warning! Brief thoughts of suicide. It's only mentioned in one-ish paragraph(s?), but still. Skip that paragraph if it makes you uncomfortable; I won't be offended. Or realize that you skipped it at all, as I am not psychic, but that's beside the point.**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Twelve:** Of Beautiful Lies and Painful Truths

Looking back, Eric would always be amazed by how perfect everything had been leading up to his decision to disappear.

And it had been perfect. He had been _happy._ The attention had died down. While people always looked at him strangely whenever they learnt his name _(Are you_ that _Eric Kirby?),_ the press had stopped stalking his every step. Others had stepped into the limelight, much to Eric's relief, and he was able to fade back into the woodwork. Even when a reporter with a renewed interest in the story came sniffing around, he was adept at avoiding them. In fact, they hadn't managed to get a clear photo of him since he was fourteen.

And what's more, he was _healing._

While he hadn't forgotten the island _(couldn't forget, even if he wanted to… and sometimes he did),_ the pain had dulled. He could go for days, weeks at a time with Ben's screams faded from his ears and the weight on his chest barely noticeable. Of course, some days he would still wake up with his scar throbbing and his lungs aching and Ben's blood fresh in his mind, but those days were getting farther and fewer between.

He would have been going to college soon. The University of Denver, the same college Dr. Grant taught at. Alan had called it "poaching" when he convinced him to go. Eric wasn't sure what he would be majoring in, but he didn't think he would become a paleontologist. There wasn't many jobs in that, not since Jurassic World had opened, and he didn't think he would be able to be enthralled with dinosaur bones after he had spent time with the living counterparts.

Besides, he had already established that he was an astronaut.

All in all, his life had become normal - or at least normal as it got in the Kirby household. They had moved on with their lives, moved past Isla Sorna and the deaths and the pain. They had moved past the _dinosaurs._

It's funny, how Life tends to remind you of how much pain you can feel.

* * *

"Uncle Eric, are you listening?" came the accusatory voice from over the phone. Well, it would probably sound more accusatory if it wasn't so dang adorable.

"Yes, I am, Dani," he responded, smiling.

"Promise?"

"Promise," he vowed.

"Okay…. _Listen,_ though. Been practicing. A is for an-anklya-saur and B is for bracsaur and C is for…"

Eric just grinned and laid back, listening as his goddaughter, Danielle, butchered the dinosaurs names. She had been practicing them so hard recently, and she was absolutely perfect even if she couldn't pronounce them; nothing could convince him otherwise. He couldn't help but be grateful for every single turn of Fate that brought her into this world. And that had been quite the twisty road.

Billy and Eric had gone parasailing when Eric was thirteen. Just the two of them… only not as the two of them.

Instead, they went as Adam and Owen Grady, respectively.

The fake names had been Billy's idea. Back then, people recognized their names automatically, but with the fake names, a hat, and sunglasses they could go out anonymous as the Grady brothers. Billy had taken Adam Grady from one of his old mountain-climbing buddies, and Eric had named himself after Richard Owen, one of the first paleontologists, who also happened to have had some of the most accurate views of dinosaurs in the history of the study. The Gradys had become something of a joke amongst their crazy group. Malcolm always asked him if he was talking to Eric or Owen. (Sometimes, he would answer Owen.)

They would probably joke less if they found out Billy had gotten fake IDs made with the names. (Nothing major, just a piece of plastic to "prove" who they were if someone thought they recognized them.) Actually, they'd probably freak out.

The parasailing had been a spur of the moment decision. Both of them were still having nightmares focused on that horrible flight with the pteranodons, and they had decided to face their fear, head on. (Probably not the best idea they'd ever had, considering this fear involved being elevated dozens of feet off the ground.) The Grady boys had tracked down a parasailing company that had flights that occurred absolutely nowhere near anything resembling a dinosaur, and booked the tour before they could think too much about it.

Then, on the boat out, Billy fell head over heels for a total stranger.

Eric and Billy hadn't been the only people on the tour; there had also been a group of three girls. One of them had dark blue eyes, long black hair, and a laugh that would light up any room she was in.

Much to Eric's surprise, Billy - suave, no-straight-female-with-a-pulse-can-resist-my-charm Billy - had become a blushing mess the moment he saw her.

So Eric did what any pseudo younger brother would do. He walked over to her at the docks and confessed that his older brother had a ridiculous, embarrassing crush on her, so if she didn't have a boyfriend would she please just meet him, so that he wouldn't spend the rest of his life bemoaning Boat Girl?

He also told her that Adam was short for Amadeus. (Eric thought it was hilarious. Billy didn't.)

 _Her_ name was Sabrina Summers, and she was smart, adventurous, independent, and agreed to go on a date with "Amadeus."

And for a while, things were great between Sabrina and Billy. They dated, went on "adventures" together (which mainly consisted of finding obscenely high cliffs and jumping off), and ended up in a committed relationship. Sabrina even adored his younger brother, "Owen." Pretty soon, they had both fallen madly in love with each other. There was only one problem.

They had been dating for almost six months, and Sabrina still thought his name was Amadeus "Adam" Grady.

It was on their six month anniversary that Billy broke the news that his name was, in fact, Billy. It did not go well.

It went horribly, in fact.

She called him a liar and a jerk and then broke up with him. Billy was heartbroken. Eric, no longer related by fake blood but still a younger brother nonetheless, realized he had to fix it. Billy was a mess and it had been his fault the sham had gone on so long. He had introduced them with fake names; Billy hadn't told her the truth sooner because he was enjoying a fame-free relationship - fame brought on by Eric's, and by consequence his, trip to "Casa de Dinos;" he had to fix it.

So he tracked her down to the college where she was completing her PhD in archaeology, took a bus there, then refused to leave her dorm building until she at least _talked_ to him. In hindsight, he was lucky she didn't call campus security on him. Instead, she walked down to meet him where he had been sitting awkwardly in the lobby, looking just as much of a mess as Billy.

And Eric told her everything.

Billy and Sabrina's relationship didn't go back to how it was straight away. Discovering that the person you have been courting is using a fake name to hide from his dinosaur-related celebrity can do that. However, they restarted the relationship from the beginning and decided to take it slow.

Five months later, Billy Brennan and Sabrina Summers got married. A couple months after that, they announced their pregnancy.

Billy almost fainted when he discovered they were having twins.

Dawn and Danielle Brennan were born in the middle of the night with a lobby full of fretting dinosaur disaster survivors. Since neither of Billy nor Sabrina had any living family members, it was up to the motley crew to act as the extended family. The exhausted parents announced Ellie and Alan to be the godparents of Dawn, and, much to their surprise, Kelly and Eric to be the godparents of Danielle. According to them, it was up to the godparents to provide rescue if the girls ever followed the family legacy and ended up on one of the islands.

They all knew that the entire family would go after them if that happened. Family doesn't leave family to be eaten by dinosaurs.

And now Dani was almost three, and she had Eric wrapped around her little finger.

The doorbell rang, interrupting the stream of memories. Curious, Eric glanced at the door; he wasn't expecting anyone, and his parents were out for "date night." Who could that be? "Gimme a second, Dani," he murmured.

Calmly, he walked over to the door; it was probably just a Jehovah's Witness or someone that was lost and needed directions or something.

It wasn't.

Instead, there was a police officer standing on the doorstep, a grave look on his face and his hat in his hand.

" _Uncle Eric… Uncle Eric?"_

Eric's head jerked back towards the faint voice coming from the phone. "Just a minute, sweetheart…"

Eric cleared his throat. "Can I help you, Officer?"

"Is this the Kirby residence?" the man asked, still staring at him with that horrible look on his face.

Eric didn't want to answer. He wanted to say no, it wasn't, he had to find some other house to knock on with a terrible look because it couldn't be for _him._ Instead, he said, "Yes," with his heart pounding in his throat. "Did - did something happen?"

And the man told him.

The phone clattered out of Eric's numb fingers and shattered on the ground.

* * *

The sky mirrored Eric's heart the day they buried his parents.

It hung low and dark as the storm clouds gathered and weighed it down, but not a drop fell. It just churned and rolled while his parents were lowered into the ground.

And all the while, Eric watched.

But he didn't cry.

He just stood there while his heart was torn to shreds.

He wanted to cry. Oh _God,_ did he want to cry. _**He just couldn't.**_ He hadn't been able to cry since he was twelve years old, since the day that he made a desperate vow to himself on a tiny island off the coast of Costa Rica. All those weeks of frantically choking down tears had taken away the ability. Absently, he had realized his problem not long after he returned, but he hadn't really cared at the time. It had even served him; he didn't have to worry about bursting into tears every time someone asked him about Ben.

And he had never, _not once_ , had a true issue with the condition until he was standing in a graveyard, suffocating on his own pain.

Distantly, Eric could hear a priest chanting prayers. He could hear Dawn whispering _what's wrong with Aunt Amanda and Uncle Paul_ and Sabrina shushing her. He could hear people releasing tears he had no hope of shedding himself, and the garbled murmurs of the well-wishers.

 _And he didn't give a damn about any of that._

Because in the end, none of that mattered. The only things, the only _people_ that mattered were in cold, unfeeling boxes of wood they would never, _ever,_ climb out of. _Oh God, what could he possibly do now?_ How _could_ he do anything now? His parents had been his rock, his _entire world_ since the Sorna fiasco. They had been there through the nightmares and the screaming and the days where Eric just _wouldn't speak._ They were the invincible Paul and Amanda Kirby.

And a drunk driver should have never been able to take them away from him.

When the police had come, they had mumbled details about the crash to a numb Eric. They had spoken useless platitudes like _"died instantly," "painless death,"_ and _"there was nothing anyone could have done,"_ that all added up to the fact that his parents were _dead_ and Eric _couldn't get them back._ He wouldn't see his mom's smile or hear his dad's laugh for the rest of his life; he wouldn't see _them_ for the rest of his life.

They hadn't been perfect.

But they had been his _parents._

A gentle nudge drew him back to reality. _(Reality? What reality? All I see is bones and gray and_ **dead dead dead.** _)_ Dr. Grant was standing at his shoulder, pulling him away from the edge of the abyss the boy was teetering on. In fact, Dr. Grant hadn't left his shoulder since he had gotten a call from a broken, empty Eric whispering that his parents were gone. Eric tried to make sense of what the man was saying through the roar of _**gone gone gone**_ that was ruling his mind. Then, his synapses fired and Eric stumbled forward with his heart in his throat.

It was time to bury his parents.

Slowly, _painfully,_ Eric crouched down next to his mother's grave and picked up the shovel lying there, scooping a pile of loose dirt onto the blank wood that fell like the blade of a guillotine. Then, he did the same to his father's, feeling like he was about to fall in after the soil, his heart nothing but a useless, unbeating husk. He shook his head at the priest's questioning look. No, he didn't want to say a few words. He couldn't say anything past the ball of grief in his throat, choking him. He just backed up and stared at the ground while Dr. Malcolm stepped forward to pay his respects.

Droplets of water fell on Eric's cheeks, much to his disgust. The _sky_ could cry, but he couldn't. He was stuck, _broken,_ and completely and utterly unable to let loose a single tear.

Then, he realized it wasn't raining.

There was no rain drops hitting the ground of the cemetery, no distant claps of thunder. The water on his cheeks was not sent by the clouds.

Instead, for the first time since he was _twelve years old,_ Eric Kirby was crying.

The realization was like a dam breaking. With a harsh, choking sob, Eric released all the pain he was feeling. He _cried._ He cried as they hid his parents beneath the Earth and the Heavens finally broke, drowning them all in the torrent. He cried for the men on the boat and for the mercenaries and for Ben - and he even cried for himself.

But, most of all, he cried for his parents.

Because damn it, they were _worth it._

Eric Kirby mourned.

And the sky mourned with him.

* * *

After the funeral, Eric moved in with Alan.

He was only seventeen after all, and he still needed a guardian until he was eighteen. His parents are - _were -_ both orphans; they had no extended family. So, they had asked Dr. Grant to take care of Eric if anything happened.

Eric had just never thought that anything would happen.

Alan had helped Eric pack up his life and organize his parent's estate. He hadn't the heart to sell his family home or the furniture inside, so instead they organized a reliable caretaker to make sure it didn't fall to pieces. The doctor had been willing to live in San Diego in the Kirby house, but Eric hadn't. While he appreciated the sentiment, he couldn't bear to be trapped in that building full of ghosts. So instead, they moved into Dr. Grant's small campus dwelling.

And for three days, Eric didn't speak.

He didn't do much of anything, actually. He didn't sleep; he didn't eat. All he did was stare blankly at the wall of his room while Dr. Grant tried to rouse him from his stupor - or at least, that's what it looked like.

Because in his mind, Eric was planning.

He had lost his parents. He had _cried._ He had finally found the point where he could no longer handle it.

So what did he do now?

He could try and move on. He could go on as Eric Kirby, keep trying to escape the large shadows cast by dinosaurs. He could go out everyday and be _that_ Eric Kirby.

But there was another option, one he had never even spoken aloud.

He could be with his parents again. He could escape the pain. After all, hadn't that been the true reason he had saved those tiny bottles of morphine for so many weeks while he was on Sorna? He had always know that once he cried, he had reached the point he couldn't _handle_ it any more; he had made a contingency plan, a way out, for that very occasion.

 _("Three is enough for an overdose.")_

But which option did he want to choose?

Three days later, he found to his answer. He wanted to live.

But he didn't want to be Eric Kirby.

* * *

The first thing he did when he started speaking again was call a family meeting. Everyone that could be there had been there; they were all just relieved that Eric was functioning again.

Then, in fumbling sentences, he explained just why he couldn't be Eric Kirby anymore.

Eric Kirby was a freak show. He was entertainment for the masses, nothing but a spectacle to be gawked at. Eric wasn't under any illusions; for the rest of his life, he would never be able to introduce himself without that slight hesitation, that unspoken question. _(Are you_ that _Eric Kirby?)_

And for his parents, he could have lived with that.

His mom and dad had built their entire lives on the name Kirby; they couldn't give it up. His dad has - _had -_ Kirby's Paint and Tile Plus, and his mom had a net of clients that all knew her as Amanda Kirby. It was - _had been -_ far too late for them to start over, and Eric would have never asked them to. Moreover, he would have never had forgoed his ties to his parents just for the sake of escaping his fame. True, he had briefly considered disappearing when the fame became too much, but he had automatically discarded the option. Cutting off his relation to the name Eric Kirby would have been cutting off his relation to _them._ Even if he still spoke to them (and really, not speaking to them had never been an option), he would have still had to pretend to be someone else to outsiders. He would be a long ago family friend or a distant relative, but never their son. And Eric couldn't do that to them, not after everything that had happened.

Only now his parents were gone, and there was nothing tying him to the name Kirby.

He wasn't cutting the rest of the "family" out, he fumbled to explain. He still wanted to be a part of their lives; he just didn't want to be _Eric_ while he was in them. In the end, what he wanted was a new beginning, one without a dinosaur stained past.

They had been incredibly understanding about the entire ordeal. That was in part due to the fact that they could all relate to the desire for a fresh start. Dr. Grant's lectures were still hounded by fans, and Dr. Malcolm couldn't even walk outside without someone recognizing him. Dr. Degler had been forced to homeschool Charlie and Alex after reporters and attention-seekers alike began to show up at their elementary school. Every single adult there understood what it was like to have your life torn beyond recognition by the bloodthirsty public.

However, none of them had been able to take the steps to disappear. They had families, educations, and careers all built on their names. The closest any of them had gotten towards changing their identity was Billy's brief excursions as Adam Grady, and even then it hadn't been sustainable.

But Eric was different.

Really, he was at the perfect age to disappear. Eric was almost eighteen. Old enough so that soon there wouldn't be anyone asking inconvenient questions about parents and guardians, but young enough so that he hadn't made any _real_ ties to the outside world. He had no college degree, no familial obligations, and no professional career. He could change his name with ease and appear as someone else, with no one the wiser. His appearance was still changing; if he grew out his facial hair and dyed his hair - not much, just enough so that it looked different but still natural - he would be hidden in the short term and unrecognizable to those who didn't know him closely in a few short years.

It would be his greatest escape yet.

* * *

It was Ellie who arranged the details.

She and Mark used their pull in the government to quietly change his name and transfer his records to a different identity. But before she set it in motion, she asked Eric just one question.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Eric sucked in a deep breath. "Absolutely," he decided.

She didn't even blink. "Leave it to me."

For the next couple months, Eric stayed in the shadows; it wouldn't do for it to be ruined when they were so close. Interest in him had been kicked back up with his parents' death, and the journalists had come back out of the woodwork. All he had to do was stay out of sight and watch as they picked through his life these past few years. Let them work themselves into a frenzy, Eric decided. They would have precious little about his life soon.

He would be free.

* * *

Manilla envelopes should not be ominous.

So why did this one seem so threatening?

Ellie had dropped it off over an hour ago, and Eric had yet to open it. He told himself he was being stupid, that this was what he had been waiting for so he should stop being an idiot and open the thing. But deep down, he knew why he was hesitating.

The moment he read those papers, he would no longer be Eric Kirby.

Eric Kirby was famous. He was an orphan. He was broken and lost and, in a way, alone. Eric Kirby hated so many things about his life that he had lost count.

But Eric Kirby was also a survivor. He was stubborn and proud and sarcastic. He had a family built of paleontologists, mathematicians, archaeologists, veterinarians, and everything else you could think of. He was kinda-sorta-it's-complicated friends with a velociraptor pack on Isla Sorna, and sworn enemies with a pack of troodons on that same island. He was the son of Paul and Amanda Kirby.

Eric Kirby knew who he was, both the good and the bad.

Who would he be when he opened up the envelope?

Ellie had chosen the name. On a level, Eric knew it had been stupid not to choose his new identity - Dr. Degler could have chosen something truly terrible (Billy definitely would have, as revenge for "Amadeus") - but naming himself had seemed _wrong._ You didn't get to choose your name when you were born; why should he get to name himself now? However, he still didn't even know what she had decided on.

Eric glanced over at the pictures on his mantelpiece. They were from his fifteenth birthday; they had gone fishing at the lake, and the boat had begun to sink with him and his dad in it. His mother, who had wisely stayed on shore, had taken a picture of the two of them frantically shoveling out water between hysterical giggles. Next to it was a picture of his bone-dry mother laughing at the sopping wet pair of them.

Could he really give them up?

Eric Kirby took one last look at his parents. They would have wanted him to be happy; he was sure of it.

And he couldn't be happy as Eric.

Quickly, he flipped open the folder and yanked out his new birth certificate.

And for the first time since his parents died, he began to laugh.

He would like his new life, Owen Grady decided.

* * *

 _Life asked Death, "Why do people love me but hate you?"_

 _Death responded, "Because you are a beautiful lie and I am a painful truth."_

* * *

 **And now my dastardly plan has been revealed. Take two characters that no one likes, make people like or at least tolerate them, then kill them off in horrible, emotionally scarring ways. Every time someone reviewed saying that they saw Amanda and Paul in a good light for the first time or felt something other than annoyance for them, I had to resist the urge to cackle. My trap was falling into place. See, I didn't even need to make you guys like Amanda and Paul; I just needed you guys to understand how much they meant to Eric, who you hopefully like at this point. And really, they meant a heck of a lot to Eric. He spent eight weeks with** _ **no one,**_ **and suddenly his parents show up and rescue him from his own personal Hell. That would make a massive impact on his life, and his emotional well being would have become majorly dependent on them. So of course I had to kill them off, thereby pushing Eric over the edge to the point where he can't handle both their deaths and his fame-addled life without harming himself, giving him the catalyst needed to change his name to Owen Grady.**

 **I feel I should explain the whole crying thing. Remember in Chapter Two, where Eric decided to stop crying because it wouldn't help him survive Sorna? Yeah, that's back. See, in Chapter Three he became pretty obsessed with "handling it," and if he cried it meant he couldn't handle it anymore. It was his coping mechanism. He was stuck in a terrible, hopeless environment, and he needed some goal in his mind to keep himself from falling into a state of despair. Not crying and handling the day-to-day survival problems was that goal. And if he cried, then that was his sign that he couldn't take it anymore. See, people are crazy resilient, but you can't shove someone into a situation where there's no light at the end of the tunnel without them looking for a way out. In the back of his mind, Eric planned a way, which was to overdose on the morphine bottles in the first aid kit. (Fun fact: There really was morphine bottles in the first aid kits on Sorna. Malcolm spent the last half of the Lost World book getting high off of them. In his defense, he was injured, but still probably medicating way too often.) When he cried, it was a signal that it was time to take his way out. However, that didn't stop when he got off of Sorna. He didn't cry throughout the whole ordeal because he** _ **couldn't**_ **cry; his subconscious wouldn't let him. (Welcome to** Of Astronomers and Astronauts, **where I give the characters lasting psychological problems.) However, losing his parents was the straw that broke the camel's back, and Eric started searching for his way out. Only, he had more options this time than an overdose of morphine, and he chose a different escape plan: Owen Grady. Hope that makes sense to you all!**

 **Just so you all know, Eric will be called Owen from this point forward in the text. Next chapter we get to find out why Owen thought it was a good idea to take his nice, dinosaur-free fresh start and become the alpha of a velociraptor pack with it. Stay tuned!**


	13. Chapter 13

**You know, it's kind of strange the number of people who have told me how much they hate me since I started this story. But in the next sentence, they tell me it's because they like me, so I guess it evens out. Or is even more confusing than before. Well, I hate-love you all too. Thanks to everyone that followed and favorited. Shout out to** KK, Lightningscar, Devil-O-Angel, bunny's pumpkin patch, NuggetMuncher, BlueRubyBeat, Rin-s666, Guest, Curious-Brunette13, Kameo1, Guest, GirlAnimePrincess, Braeden1002, topazel **for their great reviews! Special shout out to** Apache Thunderbird **for being the author of my 100** **TH** **REVIEW! I LOVE YOU ALL! Now that I've finished my metaphorical victory dance, I will answer the questions that I can without giving away the rest of story.**

GirlAnimePrincess: **I don't have a set updating schedule. Usually, it's based on how much time I have to write. Thankfully, I don't suffer from writer's block often, but that occasionally is a factor. The typical amount of time it takes for me to complete a chapter is around one to two weeks.**

Apache Thunderbird: **You didn't actually ask a question, but your review raised a topic that I believe I should explain. In Chapter Eleven, Eric was remarkably sedate when he found out about Jurassic World, despite the fact that he went through much more than the rest of the survivors. He acted like that** _ **because**_ **he went through so much more than everyone else, not in spite of the fact. Bad experiences greatly outnumber good experiences on an island entirely inhabited by dinosaurs, that's a given. Now, everyone else stayed around two to three days on the islands, with Sarah Harding the exception at her solo-trip to Sorna. In that time, the closest any of them got to a good experience was meeting a brachiosaur (which sneezed on Lex) and Dr. Grant hugging a sick triceratops. Therefore, it's not hard to imagine that none of them have warm and fuzzy feelings about those particular vacation venues. Eric, however, was there for** _ **eight weeks.**_ **That was enough time to be scarred for life, but it was also long enough that he encountered several of those rare good experiences. When everyone else thinks of the islands, they only have to think of Rexes and raptors trying to kill them. When Eric thinks of the islands, he has to think of dinosaurs that traumatized him but were also the closest thing he had to family for two months. So when Masrani waltzed up and basically said, "Remember that place that you still have nightmares about but can't figure out how to exist away from? Well, we're opening it's equally deadly sister city to the public. Wanna help?" he went through a kind of sensory overload. He couldn't deal with that and snark at the billionaires. At least, that's how I saw it going down.**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Thirteen:** Speak Softly and Carry a Big Knife

When most people turned eighteen, they bought a lotto ticket.

Owen made his Will.

He knew how quickly life could change - or end. He wanted to make sure that what he had would go to the people he loved. Over the others' protests that he was young, he had plenty of time to get his affairs in order, Owen found a good lawyer and made the arrangements.

Then, he joined the Navy.

People had finally realized that Eric Kirby had disappeared. He wasn't pulling one of his avoidance tricks, he was _gone,_ and that made big news. The search was on, and it didn't look like it would be letting up anytime soon. Conspiracy theorists claimed he had died with his parents; reporters were desperate to track him down; everyone wanted to be the one that figured out what truly happened to _the_ Eric Kirby.

They would figure out sooner or later that Eric was gone and he wasn't coming back. Owen just had to make sure they didn't find him in the meantime.

That, really, had been a big part of his decision to enlist. If Owen showed up at the University of Denver in the place of Eric Kirby, his new identity would be figured out rather quickly. Dr. Grant hadn't wanted him to join the military. Frantically, he had claimed it was too dangerous, that he could go to a different school, that he didn't need to become a member of the armed forces just to hide from his past, but Owen refused to be swayed. If he wanted to make a clean break from who he once was, then he needed to be undetected long enough for the last vestiges of the twelve year old boy the entire world saw walk off of that rescue helicopter to clear from his face. And he couldn't do it in America, where there had been so much more coverage of the Incident than anywhere else. If he was in the military he would likely be sent overseas, and _nobody_ expected to find Eric Kirby in a some bunker in Iraq. Besides, it wasn't like he needed a college degree to go get a decent job. He was stupidly rich from that ridiculous journal; he could sustain a decent lifestyle for a while on those funds alone.

Another part of him had always wanted to be a soldier, and that part had only been strengthened when the Navy arrived on Sorna. Owen wasn't stupid; he knew that the military was serious business, and most of the time it didn't end in Happily Ever After. _But_ if he could make just one person feel the relief he felt when he had been rescued, then it would all be worth it. Because _nothing_ could compare to the realization that you had finally clawed your way out of Hell and there was someone there to help you the rest of the way.

But maybe the biggest reason was that he simply had no idea what else to do.

Eric Kirby had not fit cleanly back into society. He had PTSD, a myriad of triggers, and zero social competence. And while he had left behind his life as Eric Kirby, Owen hadn't been able to leave behind his psychological problems with his old name. Oh, he could fake normality well enough but in the end, Owen Grady just _didn't work_ in normal, everyday life. His Bad Days had increased since his parents' death, he had never been able to kick his old habit of carrying his raptor claw and flare everywhere he went, and he constantly found himself scanning his surroundings for threats. It was almost funny. You can take the boy out of Sorna, but you can't take Sorna out of the boy (even if said boy changes his name and cuts all known ties with the island, and really, _really_ needed to function normally now that he was pretending to be a regular, non-traumatized kid). In the end, he knew that he just couldn't live in the civilian world, but maybe he could in the Navy.

At first, he had been planning on signing up for the Marines. His late paternal grandfather had been a Marine, and Owen figured that it was as good as a branch as any. But when he went to the Navy recruitment office, Owen somehow found himself signing up for SEAL training instead. He ignored all the voices telling him the training was next to impossible to pass and he should try for another branch, and soon he found himself packing up his old life in boxes before he was sent off to boot camp. Owen had only kept three things from his life as Eric: his journal, his raptor claw, and a picture.

He had never considered leaving the claw and the journal behind. Those had made it through Hell and back with him; where he went, those went with him. The picture, however, had been a tougher decision.

The subject itself was simple enough. It was a hasty picture taken by an overworked nurse at three in the morning the day his goddaughter had been born. The entire group had shoved into the hospital room, much to the hospital staff's consternation, to see the newest additions to the family. The reason behind his trouble was simple: The picture depicted some of the most famous people on the planet, and if anyone saw it his secret identity would be shot to Hell. But in the end, he hadn't been able to leave it behind. He wasn't turning his back on his family, he was just turning away from the general public. So he crammed the photo at the bottom of his duffel and headed off to the Great Lakes for Naval Special Warfare Preparatory School.

And, much to everyone's surprise, Owen didn't merely succeed in training. He _thrived._

When everyone else's body was shutting down from the cold and exhaustion, Owen's didn't. His _woke up_. When the other recruits were gasping for breath, he was breathing better than he had in years _._ Owen was functioning better than he had since Sorna, and he _loved it._ He excelled in the training and eight weeks later he was sent to BUD/S training in California, where he quickly accelerated to the top of his training group. Most people just assumed that Owen Grady was a natural, but he suspected it was because he had already lost the limits the Navy was trying to train out of them.

SEAL training was hard; that was an understatement. It was designed to get rid of those who can't handle difficult situations and discover those that could. And to do that, you had to find your limits.

Then, you had to completely and utterly destroy them, and go find new ones. Lather, rinse, repeat. Owen had already started that process when he was twelve years old.

Spending what felt like eternity lying in the freezing surf, your quivering arms hooked with your teammates as you tried to keep breathing, was terrible.

It just wasn't quite as bad as trying to secure yourself with cold-numbed fingers in a swaying tree as freezing rain battered down on you, knowing that the moment you fell the same animal you had just watched _devour_ someone you cared about would tear you to shreds.

Having to run for miles and miles each day, doused with water and heavy sand and God knows what else, was an absolutely miserable experience.

But running with your side torn open, the hounds of Hell on your heels while you fled towards something equally likely to kill you, was _so much worse._

And if the drill sergeants thought that their barks and insults were the least bit intimidating, then they had obviously never stared down a pissed off velociraptor while it hissed threats in a language you barely understood.

Sorna had prepared him for the Navy lifestyle in a way nothing else could, and Owen found himself excelling at every phase of the screening process.

And after months of training, Owen Grady was officially a Navy SEAL.

He was assigned to SEAL Team 7, where their motto was speak softly and carry a big knife. And in its ranks, Owen found comradeship, structure, and - strangely enough - peace.

It wasn't the type of peace that came with a serene environment, obviously (there hadn't been a serene day since his deployment). It was the type of peace that came with _belonging_ somewhere, and knowing that you did. SEAL life was chaotic, dangerous, and deadly, but Owen found that he wouldn't give it up for anything.

Because for the first time since he was twelve years old, Owen Grady could _breathe._

Navy life taught him a lot. It taught him devotion, loyalty, and belief. He specialized in working with the dogs, and his training skills skyrocketed. Owen learnt even more from his squad members. They taught him how to trust others, how to swear "properly"... and how to kill an attacker with random objects in arms' reach.

In the words of Kelly Malcolm, Owen Grady had become a badass.

Owen operated best in adrenaline-fueled, heart-pounding, life-threatening situations; he had since had completely changed his way of life while on Sorna. And whether in war-zones or dinosaur-trodden jungles, Owen found himself comfortable in those self-same occurrences. Granted, they were horrific, terrifying, and dangerous situations, but he knew how to handle them better than any calm, civilian lifestyle. He was protecting his country and his fellow soldiers, and Owen couldn't think of a better way to spend his life. Soon, he finished his first tour and signed up for another, convinced that he had found the perfect career path to pursue.

And then he got shot.

* * *

The first thing Owen was aware of was the beeping. It was repetitive, endless, and incredibly annoying.

Hospital, then.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light. Owen sat up, ignoring the pain stabbing into his abdomen at the movement and the sterile with bandages around his torso. Quickly scanning his surroundings, his eyes came to rest on a man slumped in an uncomfortable hospital chair. "Well either you've made a spontaneous trip to Afghanistan or I'm in America," he croaked, his sandpaper throat rusting over his words.

Dr. Alan Grant startled in his seat, his attention drawn to the man sitting weakly in the hospital bed. "Owen, thank God," he sighed.

"What happened?" he murmured.

"I have no idea," Alan responded, an annoyed twist to his lips. "I'm told it's 'classified.'"

Then, Owen remembered. There had been an ambush, a haze of bullets, a teammate falling, and Owen running out after him. Then, a burst of pain, the sensation of falling, a blur of yells, and... nothing.

"Where's Thompson?" Owen realized. "Did he make it?"

The look on Alan's face answered his question. Owen shut his eyes. Thompson had been on his last tour. He had a wife and a baby back home. In the last moments of the conflict, he had taken a hit and gone down. Owen had ran out from cover after him, praying that he wasn't too late, not seeing the sniper lining up for a shot.

And now Thompson was dead.

"I'm sorry, Owen," Grant softly said. "The only thing they told me was that you were injured trying to help him, and that he didn't survive the trip back to camp."

Owen nodded, not looking at the doctor as he accepted the information.

"You almost died," the paleontologist suddenly said, his voice choked.

This time, Owen did look up. "But I didn't," he reminded him.

"But you could have," Alan said, his voice hard. "If your squad members hadn't pulled you out of there…"

"A Navy SEAL has never been left behind," Owen cut in, his voice sharp. "Dead, alive, or injured. I trusted my team to have my back, even while I was going down. They wouldn't have left me there."

"You have a history of being the exception to the rule, Owen. Did you really have to test this one?"

For a long moment, Owen was silent. Then, he spoke. "Once, I lost faith in someone coming after me. But a few weeks later, two of the most stubborn people on the planet proved me wrong." He shrugged. "I guess that taught me to trust some people to have my back."

Alan snorted at the memory.

Owen cleared his throat. "So, where is here, exactly?"

"You're in a recovery hospital in Texas," Dr. Grant replied. "They flew you in as soon as you stabilized enough for the journey. You've been out for almost a week."

"They called you?"

"Ellie has me down as your emergency contact. There's no other next-of-kin." Alan let out a short, humorless laugh. "I had to tell them you were attacked by a shark to explain your scar. Then, I had to make a frantic call to Ellie so that she could get the medical files to backup the story."

Owen raised his eyebrows. "And they bought that story?"

"Had to. Not very likely you were bitten by a dinosaur."

"Did they tell you when they thought I would be cleared for active duty?"

Dr. Grant shifted in his seat, a reluctant expression on his face.

Owen's stomach twisted anxiously. "Alan?"

Slowly, the paleontologist answered. "You're not being cleared for duty, Owen. You're receiving an honorable discharge.''

Suddenly, Owen felt numb. "Oh," he replied dumbly.

"I'm sorry… I know how much this job meant to you."

It wasn't a job, Owen wanted to reply. It was a life. _His_ life. It was the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins. It was the only way he could function anymore. It was protecting his country and his fellow soldiers. It had been the only reason he had been able to get up every morning after his parents died. It was so much more than a job. It was his _existence._

And it was gone.

They gave him more than the honorable discharge. Owen left the Navy with a medal he couldn't care less about and the knowledge that he may never regain full use of his left arm. He walked out of that hospital with his arm in a sling from where the bullet tore through his shoulder and a weight on his chest.

And, just like that, Owen Grady was suffocating again.

They had been wrong about his arm. He worked on physical therapy every single day because he had _nothing else to do,_ and after weeks and weeks of work his left arm was back in working condition. Owen went to college for the degree he had forgone for the military, specializing in animal training and taking a few paleontology courses on the side. As soon as the diploma was in his hand he entered the workforce, with a focus on training predators and animals of high intelligence.

And soon, Owen made a name for himself.

He's done jobs with dolphins, raptors (the bird, not the dinosaur), lions, wolves, elephants, tigers, and even did a stint teaching a gorilla sign language (the study had suddenly ended when the gorilla developed a rare illness and died. Her name had been Amy, and Owen had adored the very ground she walked on. By the time she died, she had an impressive vocabulary and a tendency to swear if someone didn't properly greet her when they entered the room. It had definitely been Owen's favorite job). He's consulted with zoos, animal studies, and basically anywhere that requests his services. Soon, Owen's managed to complete a couple more degrees on the side and has a reputation for being the best in the business for the trickiest of cases.

And then, one day, he wrote a paper on the theoretical pack structure and behaviorism of the velociraptor.

The idea had been bouncing around in his head ever since he was a kid, and had begun to ferment during a study he did on wolves. He decided to make it the subject of his paper on pure instinct, and structured his argument around what he'd learnt in his professional career and filled in the gaps with his childhood experiences. He published the paper and quickly forgot about it, already moving on to try and find a new way to make his stupid lungs take in air again.

And a few months later he got a call with another job offer.

From Jurassic World.

* * *

Owen Grady had never set foot on Isla Nublar.

It had been open for years, but he had never gone. After all, hadn't he already had the _real_ experience with dinosaurs when he was a kid? Why would he need to go to that death trap on _vacation?_ The very idea of going to the glorified theme park made his skin crawl. Why would he want to spend his free time surrounded by a clueless populace that were so busy screwing around on their cell phones that they couldn't realize how close they were to death? Where would be the enjoyment in that? If someone had given him an all-expense paid trip there, he would have just laughed in their face.

Which was probably why he was shocked at the fact that he was taking the job offer seriously.

The call itself had been pretty routine. One of those, _are-you-Owen-Grady-we-want-to-discuss-a-job-opportunity-with-you_ kind of deals. The only unusual thing about it was that it came from Jurassic World, and that was almost enough to make him say no on the spot.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he went to the stupidly fancy restaurant that their representative wanted to meet him at, and told absolutely _no one_ that he got the call, let alone decided to consider it - he's not considering it. He's absolutely, one hundred percent not considering it. He's just going because he's bored; the funding for the intelligence study he was conducting on lions had dried up unexpectedly a couple weeks back so he's currently between jobs. He's going because the weight on his chest had been worse than ever lately, and maybe the thrill of meeting with someone connected to Sorna will let him breathe for just a couple minutes. He's _not_ going because he's actually maybe just a tiny bit curious about whatever they are calling him about. He's _not_ going because a small (not big, certainly not big) part of him has always missed the overgrown lizards that had once been his entire world. He's not.

The representative was a graceful, classy woman by the name of Cynthia Waters, and Owen had needed a moment to remind himself that he's faced down dinosaurs, terrorists, and Kelly Malcolm on a bad day, so she should definitely not be intimidating. He sat down at the ridiculously lavish table, feeling immensely out of place in his button up shirt and slacks. Then, she told him exactly what Jurassic World wanted to hire him for.

And Owen promptly choked on the water that he had been in the process of swallowing (he had been very, very lucky he didn't spit it across the table and right in her face).

"You want me to _what?"_ he coughed out the moment he could speak.

Cynthia didn't blink. "We have a pack of velociraptors on Nublar. We want you to train them."

This was insane. This was a ridiculous, insane idea that will probably get everyone involved killed. He should probably tell the lady that and leave the restaurant as quickly as possible. He should _not,_ under any circumstances, actually consider the idea.

Why the hell was he considering the idea?

When Owen could finally think again, he asked, "Why?"

Composed as ever, Waters reached down into her high-end briefcase and pulled out a thick folder with _IBRIS_ scrawled across it. "Masrani Global is starting an intelligence study on the animals. Integrated Behavioral Raptor Intelligence Study. IBRIS. We still need a head trainer for the project."

"What are the project's aims?" Owen asked sharply. Why raptors? Why not triceratops, or apatosaurus, or even Rexes? Why the deadliest dinosaur in existence?

"Primarily, we want to assess the intelligence of the creatures. Their ability to reason, follow orders, etcetera. However, there is another reason we are beginning the study," she stated evenly, folding her hands in front of her and leaning across the table. "As you know, Jurassic World periodically opens new attractions to incite more interest in the park. They are always geared towards public demand, and since the beginning velociraptors have been an interest. From the claims of Ian Malcolm to the released memoirs of Eric Kirby," and here, Owen had to try incredibly hard not to show anything on his face, "velociraptors have played a prominent role in the history of the park. As such, they have captured the fascination of our consumer base. The goal of the project is to determine if the raptors can be controlled enough to be an active attraction."

"You can't control them," Owen answered instantly. They literally _can't._ Even though it's been decades and a lifetime ago, he still remembers every single instant he spent with the raptors, back when his name was Eric and a velociraptor named Rose was the closest thing he had to a sentient friend. They were too aggressive, too complex, too _intelligent_ to mindlessly take orders from some weak, fragile human. Jurassic World was barking up the wrong tree.

Cynthia wasn't swayed. "That's what we want you to find out."

And why, exactly, did they think he could do that? He's an animal behaviorist, not a miracle worker. An immortal, indestructible miracle worker that couldn't be taken down by tiny things like Nature's perfect killing machines. The only person who had ever even gotten close to something vaguely resembling a positive relationship with a velociraptor pack was -

Him.

"Why me?" Owen asked, suspicious. They couldn't know; they couldn't possibly know. Ellie had buried the record; Eric was gone, practically buried with his parents. If they knew, they wouldn't be beating around the bush like this, asking for Owen Grady when he was, once upon a time (not anymore, _can't be_ anymore), Eric Kirby.

She took another folder out of her briefcase and slid it across the table. With a frantically beating heart, Owen opened it, expecting to see documents with his old name and past.

Instead, there's a picture of him with Amy.

It had more photos of his past jobs, and, by consequence, him. There's Crystal, the bottlenose dolphin he trained for Sea World, Angus, the lion he once studied, Artemis, the falcon he trained for a Medieval Times, and so many others. And, at the very bottom of the stack, there's his thesis on velociraptors.

Well, that's not creepy at all.

"You have a very interesting job history, Mr. Grady," she began as he shifted through the totally-not-creepy file. "Your superiors from your time in the Navy have nothing but praise for you, but your file is so heavily redacted that no one can find out exactly what you were doing. You're a highly successful, highly sought after consultant, but you never take jobs unless they involve animals that are dangerous, intelligent, or both. You have the qualifications for high paying employment, but instead you haven't found a long-term focus for your career, choosing to jump from job to job. The closest you ever got to sticking with a study was with the gorilla Amy. Very unusual. However, your history wasn't all that caught our eye. Your paper on raptor behaviorism is incredibly accurate for someone who has never personally studied a velociraptor. We at Masrani Global feel that you make a very good candidate for the position."

"Candidate?"

"Jobs of this high caliber are highly competitive at Jurassic World; we want only the best. There are several animal behaviorists we are looking at for the head of the program. If you choose to accept our offer, you will have a period of time to observe our pack and present a plan to properly train them. The most viable candidate will receive the position." She glanced at her watch, smoothly stood, and looked at him. "I must apologize, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut our meeting short. I have a flight at three that I really must catch." Calmly, she reached into her pocket and slid a business card across the table. "Perhaps the reason why you never remained with a study for longer than a few years was because you never found the right animal. Perhaps Jurassic World has that animal for you. Think about it, and call me when you decide." Then, she turned and left, not even bothering to look back at the man whose world she unknowingly rattled. Which left him here, in this ridiculously fancy restaurant staring down at a tiny piece of paper that's intertwined with his past and, possibly, his future.

Owen doesn't pick up the card.

He doesn't leave it either. Instead, he sits at that stupidly lavish table for God only knows how long, staring at the white table cloth and thinking about a velociraptor named Rose, a deadly game, and a pair of lungs that haven't properly worked in years.

He picks up the card.

Damn it, he's considering this.

* * *

The moment Alan opened the door, Owen knew that he had realized something was up. In hindsight, it was obvious that the paleontologist would figure it out quickly. The man has known him since he was twelve, after all, and he had learnt many of Owen's tells during that period of time where his life was ruled by PTSD and awkward teenage hormones.

Never a good mix, those two.

"Owen," Dr. Grant said, surprised and suspicious all at once. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh, no, actually. There's something I need to talk to you about. Can I come in?"

"Of course," the man replied warily, opening his door wider. Owen nervously followed the man into his home, glancing around the familiar surroundings that were devoid of the least bit of comfort. "What's going on?"

"I, uh, got a job offer," Owen said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I'm thinking about taking it."

Alan stared at him in confusion. "You get a lot of job offers, Owen. None of them have warranted you driving to Colorado to talk to me."

 _Hypocrite,_ Owen's mind hissed. Still, he brushed off the memory and answered the unasked question. "That's because none of them were from Jurassic World."

Dr. Grant froze.

"They're starting a new intelligence study and their considering me to head it up," he continued. "There are like, four other guys up for the position and I may not get it even if I accept their offer, but it could be me and… And I kind of hope it is," he finished lamely.

And for a long moment, the room is silent.

"Jurassic World," Alan finally choked out. "Jurassic World. You mean, the Jurassic World that is the amusement park version of the place where we almost died? The place that is probably going to get hundreds of people killed? _That_ Jurassic World? Owen, why would you even _consider -"_ he broke off, frustrated. "What dinosaur, Owen?" Alan questioned firmly.

Owen didn't pretend not to understand the question. "Velociraptor."

The next few minutes mainly consisted of profuse swearing and yelling.

"-don't have a clue about what they're dealing with!" Dr. Grant shouted. "That entire damn operation of theirs is going to go sideways, and people are going to die when it happens!"

"Well, maybe they need someone who _has_ a clue what they're dealing with!" Owen yelled back. "At least to tell them when they're being idiots!"

Alan looked at him incredulously. "You can't fix their mess, Owen. It's too big and too bloody."

"I know that," he replied. "I'm not trying to. But maybe someone who actually knows how to handle himself could limit the damage to bystanders!"

"And if you die?" Grant demanded.

"SEALs don't die," Owen scoffed, dodging the question. "We just go to Hell and regroup." Granted, he wasn't "officially" in the Navy anymore, but still. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL.

" _Eric!"_ Alan snapped. Owen froze. He hadn't called him by his real name - _old name,_ his real name was Owen now - since Eric had disappeared. It had been Owen during every single meeting, even if they were completely alone. It was as if they were pretending that he had never had gone by anything else, as if he had always been Owen Grady.

But now, Alan was calling him Eric.

"Why would you think - even _consider -_ taking this job? After everything we've suffered through because of those damn islands, what could make you want to go back? And no dodging the question, no excuses. _Why?"_

"Because I can't live like this anymore!" Owen snapped. Alan stared at him. "I can't," he repeated, his chest heaving. Frustrated, he ran his hand through his hair. "I never figured out how to change back to living in society. I mean, I'm better than I used to be, but I still can't function in a normal lifestyle. The closest I got was in the Navy, and that's not even an option anymore. I am _suffocating,_ Alan; I have been since I got back from Sorna. It was better when I was with my parents, and again with the SEALs, but I just can't breathe anymore. I run around, hopping from job to job, hoping for something that will make me feel alive again, but nothing sticks! I just don't fit here, and I'm tired of pretending that I do! And don't you _dare_ pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about, Alan; I see how the islands are still affecting all of you. I see how you avoid storms, how Ian still listens for impact tremors, and how Kelly still practices gymnastics like her life depends on it! But you guys - you still fit. And I don't. Not anymore," he finished lamely.

And the truth was out. The ugly, selfish truth was finally out there in the open. Deep down, Owen knewthat his tendency to lean towards dangerous jobs was hurting his family, but he wouldn't last a minute in a desk position. So what could they do?

Heavily, Alan sat down in a chair, wiping his hand down his face. "Hell," he muttered. "I should have had a drink before this conversation."

Owen snorted. "I don't think it would have helped either of our judgements."

"No, but it probably would have helped my mood," he sighed. "Do they know?"

Slowly, Owen shook his head. "I don't think so. I think they're just interested because of my qualifications; I feel like I would realize it if they knew I was Eric."

Alan nodded. "I understand," he said simply. "I don't agree, but I understand why you're doing this."

"I haven't decided if I'm taking it yet," Owen protested.

The paleontologist snorted. "I know you, Owen; you're accepting the job."

As usual, Dr. Grant was right.

Because that night, Owen pulled out a business card, dialed the number, and told the person that answered that he was accepting their job offer.

* * *

His going-away party was more somber than the one they held for when he was joining the Navy. And that time, he was going off to far-off places to be shot at.

Of course, he was going off to possibly be eaten this time, so he could understand where they were coming from.

The entire family had shown up for what Dr. Malcolm had called the "Farewell to the Suicidal Moron Party."

It was the mathematician's way of showing he cared.

Still, the party was not what one would call "hopping." Dani had been sullen since she arrived, Ian was rattling off the statistical probabilities of his death in hopes of talking him out of it, and Cass (an honorary member of the dino-surviving family ever since she tased someone attempting to kidnap a three-year-old Alex) had punched him. Or tried to, at least. The Navy had honed his already impressive dodging abilities to the point that he could avoid his former boss.

"Okay, okay, everybody listen up," Kelly shouted, clinking a spoon on the side of her glass. "We're not here to criticize Owen's admittedly stupid job decisions -"

"Thanks, Kelly," Owen called to his ex-girlfriend.

"We're here to give him a proper send-off," she continued smoothly. "Now, I understand that Alan has something he'd like to give him. Let's let him do that and then eat the cake that was probably the only reason why you all showed up."

Owen rolled his eyes at her antics, but smiled nonetheless. Then, he glanced towards the approaching Dr. Grant.

"I still don't approve of this," the paleontologist began. "However, that doesn't mean that I don't hope you succeed. I thought this might help."

Curious, Owen took the neatly wrapped package and opened it. Then, almost reverently, he held up its contents.

The resonating chamber of a velociraptor. The same resonating chamber they used to escape Sorna.

Slowly, Owen lifted the device to his lips and blew. Almost immediately, an echoing, trilling sound burst forth. He closed his eyes, listening to the name that Rose's pack had given him.

Then, he opened his eyes again. "You know why I have to do this," he said to his family. It wasn't a question.

Reluctantly, Sarah responded. "We know. I mean, I'm not exactly one to preach about job safety, all things considered, so I guess I can especially understand where you're coming from. Besides, we know you. You're too stubborn to accept failure, especially when it comes to dinosaurs."

Owen rolled his eyes. "You realize I haven't gotten the job yet, right?"

Billy snorted. "You'll get the job."

"Yeah," Dawn piped up. "If anyone can do it, you can! You speak velociraptor!"

Owen sighed. It was official; he had failed at convincing the others of the difference between knowing a few terms and speaking a language. Then, he focused on the person whose opinion mattered the most to him. Crouching down to eye level, he said, "Dani? We good, Monkey?"

"You can't die," she blurted out, huffing. "You're my only godfather; you can't get eaten by dinosaurs!"

"Of course I'm not going to be eaten. For one thing, I'd probably taste terrible," he soothed, eliciting a grudging laugh from the ten-year-old. "Besides, if I was eaten, who'd be there to kick your butt at checkers?"

"You do not!"

"Do too!" he prodded, smirking.

Huffing, she threw her arms around his neck before pulling back. "You can't die," she declared. "You're not allowed."

Well, who was he to argue with something like that?

The ferry was practically empty at five in the morning.

The flights had been long and tiring, but Owen had had worse. Instead of waiting on mainland, he had opted for the first available ride to his new job site, despite the early hour. Standing at the front of the boat, he took in the rising sun, the thick greenery, and the large, heavy gates shaking open. In the distance, Owen thought he could see a herd of brachiosaurus.

He drew in a deep, satisfying breath, enjoying the crisp morning air for the first time in a long time.

Then, he heard the boat's speakers begin to play.

"Welcome to Jurassic World."

* * *

 **I'd like to go on record and state that "SEALs don't die; they just go to Hell and regroup," line was a modified quote from the movie Red Dawn. I was in no way implying anything about the afterlife awaiting the Navy SEALs. I have to utmost respect for our troops. Also, remember that massive knife that Owen Grady keeps strapped to his belt the entire movie? A habit from the SEALs. At least, it is in my story. Furthermore, "Speak softly and carry a big knife," is another modified quote. Roosevelt used to say "Speak softly and carry a big stick" in reference to using diplomacy but having a superior Navy. I figure** _ **someone**_ **in the military would have stumbled on that quote and used it.**

 **So, that's the how and why Eric Kirby decided to become a velociraptor trainer. When John Watson couldn't adjust to civilian life, he took out a flatshare with the world's only Consulting Detective and solved crime. Owen became the alpha of a velociraptor pack. We all have our coping mechanisms. And if you didn't get that reference, go watch an episode of** _ **Sherlock.**_

 **Now, on the whole, 'goals of IBRIS program' thing. I don't think Masrani ever intended it to be for the military; I think that that was Hoskins and a group of other InGen members working from inside the organization. In the movie, Masrani says the raptors are part of an "intelligence study" and flat out refuses to let them loose. It's not until he's dead that Vic can release the raptors and clean out the labs. Besides, can anyone really see Owen Grady joining a program designed to release** _ **velociraptors**_ **with the military? He thinks that they'll eat their handlers if they do that, and he used to be one of those soldiers! So, in my story that scheme was the work of evil-sorta-Hydra-Hoskins and Co.**

 **So, next chapter is an over complicated backstory of how Owen landed the job itself. I didn't want it to just be "Hey random Navy dude, here's a pack of specially-bred, multi-million dollar prehistoric apex predators. Go nuts!" So I developed the events you shall soon see.**

 **Also, the only stuff I know about SEAL life I found online, so I'm sorry if I got anything wrong.**

 **And yeah, I totally ship Kelly and Eric/Owen as first-real-relationship kind of stuff. I'm planning on have the backstory for that on** Outtakes **if I ever have time to write it.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

**And we have finally entered the Jurassic World part of Owen/Eric's tale! This is exciting. Thanks to everyone who has been reading, especially all that followed and favorited! Special thanks to** Kameo1, Archeops567, frytrix, Lightningscar, bunny's pumpkin patch, Countdown, ImploringIdeal, Chaotician, KK, lucy, Guest, Rin-s666, Apache Thunderbird, AshPhoenix93, JuppiUniverse, TigerInTheMoonlight, Pierce, squirrel1464, Ghost of Los Angeles, d wright, Guest, Lioness32, BenjiTheTurtle, XJackieFrostX, Turannoktonnos, child of Jon snow, Dareagon, **and** NuggetMuncher **for their absolutely amazing reviews! Also,** Countdown, **thank you for that extra information about knife policies. I didn't notice in the film that the others had knives also, so obviously I need to watch it again. I am so stealing your idea for having Owen make it regulation for the IBRIS project. Everyone, that was thanks to** Countdown. **Questions:**

Pierce: **Yes, that was totally based off of the Regis from the book! I was hoping someone would catch that! For those of you who haven't read the book, Regis is the dude that originally ditched Tim and Lex to the Rex. Weirdly enough, that lawyer, Gennaro, was kind of a badass. Yeah, he actually survives the book and spends it going on adventures with Muldoon. They still threaten him with a cattle prod for trying to wuss out of crawling into a raptor nest in a volcano, but he was kind of awesome. Like, running around with big guns with Muldoon before making up fake laws to stop a raptor infested boat from docking on the mainland, awesome.**

 **Also, in regards to questions, I will only answer those that don't give away too much of the plot. For example, I see no problem answering the question if the other survivors will still be a part of the story (Yes), but I won't answer things like if someone will figure out Owen is Eric, and who they may be if they do. Sorry, I just hate spoilers. Explanations (excuses) as to why this is so late below. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Fourteen:** In Which Jurassic World has Quite Possibly the Best Candidate on the Planet for Head Raptor Trainer, and He is Still Somehow their Second Choice

When they gave him his own journal during the orientation, Owen almost burst out laughing. _So that's why book sales are still up,_ he mused internally.

Orientation was run by a gorgeous woman by the name of Claire Dearing. Apparently she also was the Park Operations Manager, and would have left the orientation to a minion if the program they were to be a part of wasn't so high-risk (which meant she wanted to threaten them not to screw up in person - only in much more polite (passive aggressive) terms than Owen would use). It was like the business version of a shovel talk, in Owen's opinion. It basically amounted to the fact that if their actions resulted in a velociraptor escaping containment on her island, nobody would ever hire them (*cough* find their bodies *cough*) again.

Owen had liked her immediately.

Then, she had continued to the routine orientation that all new employees went through, which included mandatory reading that included the Jurassic World Employee Handbook, an Emergency Protocols Handbook, and several accounts of dinosaur behavior, including the field journal of one Eric Kirby. Apparently it was the closest thing they had to a "reliable" source on certain species that were too dangerous to study in the wild (meaning he was the only one stupid enough to try it), and employees were supposed to attempt some of the techniques that he described in a life or death scenario.

It was literally all Owen could do not to burst out laughing.

There were exactly four candidates for the position: him; a charismatic, rugged man named Clint who possessed the most cliche Australian accent Owen had ever heard; a quiet woman who had given her name as Liz before lapsing into a thoughtful silence; and Art Davis, who Owen knew the least of all of his competition. He had heard of Liz's work before, and briefly run into Clint while doing a stint in Australia, but Owen had never even _heard_ of Art. It was as if he had popped out of obscurity, which was strange, seeing as Jurassic World seemed to only be after well-established trainers for this project. Of course, Owen didn't pretend to know everyone in the business; perhaps he just hadn't crossed paths with the man yet.

Claire gave another practiced, professional smile that probably had investors taking her pitch hook, line, and sinker. "Now, if you'll just follow me you can go through our security checkpoint before we show you the raptors."

It was the eighth security checkpoint they had been through that morning.

"I guess Jurassic World is really gung-ho about this security stuff, eh?" Clint muttered to Liz as they all stood.

Liz ignored him. Owen smirked. He definitely liked her.

Slowly, the group filed out of the room and into the busy hallway of the Jurassic World Control Center. Glancing about, Owen could see a mass of people, all walking with purpose. He would either love working here or really, really hate it. Walking into the fray behind the rest of the group, Owen tried to blend into the background. Here, there was a much greater chance that someone would remember Eric Kirby. It would be best to remain inconspicuous.

He made it three steps before he was recognized.

* * *

"Well if it isn't That Crazy Sonovabitch Grady! What are you doing here, man?"

Owen blinked in surprise. "Alec? Alec Greenway?"

"I'm sorry, you two know each other?" Miss Dearing cut in, frowning.

"We went through BUD/S together," Alec explained. "Lost touch when we ended up on different teams, though."

Alec Greenway was tall, rugged, and had an eternal five o'clock shadow. He wore a perpetual grin that could survive even the most grueling of training exercises, and a motor mouth that had managed to remain going even during wave training. But he was also one of the most trustworthy men Owen had ever met. If he said he would have your back, then you had nothing to worry about.

"You both were SEALs?" Liz asked, a sculpted eyebrow expertly raised.

"Oh yeah," Alec said, a grin fixing in his face once more. "I joined the ACU after one tour, but I'm surprised Grady's here at Jurassic World. He always seemed really into the SEALs." Alec turned to him, fixing Owen with an inquiring gaze. "What happened? We all figured you'd spend as much time as possible in the service, running around war zones and getting shot at."

Owen shifted awkwardly. "I got shot."

That revelation seemed to put a damper on Alec's mood, but only momentarily. Soon he was smiling again, clapping his hand on Owen's shoulder sympathetically. "That's too bad, man. But you're working here now, huh? Velociraptors! Really trying to live up to that nickname, aren't you, Crazy?"

Owen forced a laugh. He had never been able to escape _that_ particular nickname, not since BUD/S. It had followed him through training and active duty, but he thought he had finally shaken it after he left the SEALs.

Unfortunately, it seemed that his gravestone would read "That Crazy Sonovabitch Grady."

Claire was watching the proceedings with a faintly interested, faintly annoyed air. Quickly, Owen made the executive decision to end the conversation before the rest of them found out _how_ he obtained that particular unfortunate nickname. "Well, it's really great seeing you again, Alec, but we've got to go see the raptors."

Alec laughed again, clapping his hand on Owen's shoulder. "That's the best part! I've been assigned to take your group to the paddock."

Fantastic.

* * *

Owen liked Alec; he really did. Alec was fun, trustworthy, and great in a firefight. Honestly, the man was one of the few people Owen would genuinely consider as a friend, even if he hadn't seen him in years.

The only problem? He didn't stop talking.

Ever.

It wasn't even malicious in intent; he didn't try to embarrass you. He was just one of those people who hated the silence, so tried to fill it up as much as possible with a running commentary. That commentary _was_ a problem. Because usually, it consisted of whatever was on his mind at the moment. And at that particular moment, all Alec wanted to talk about was his dear old friend That Crazy Sonovabitch, and to share basically every embarrassing story he knew to said friend's potential employers.

Every. Single. Story.

"...always had the impression he was kind of laughing at everything they came up with. I mean, everyone in training had this kind of love/hate thing for him, because on one hand he annoyed the COs so much that some of the heat was taken off of us because they spent so much time trying to come up with new and painful ways to get that damned smirk off of his face, but on the other hand they seemed to decide that if _he_ could do it then _everyone else_ had to do it too, and just because Crazy clearly didn't know the limits of the human body didn't mean that _we_ suffered from the same mental affliction…"

The truly fascinating part was that you never saw him come up for air.

Ms. Dearing was sitting in the passenger seat of the violently bouncing Jeep, clinging to a handhold on the roof of the vehicle for dear life. Impossibly, she still did not have a single hair out of place. "Maybe you should focus on the road," she grounded out.

Absently, Greenway took a hand off the wheel and saluted her. "Aye aye, Captain."

The Jeep swerved madly. Alec put his hand back on the wheel.

"Oh look, we're here!"

The rush for the doors was somewhat reminiscent to rats fleeing a sinking ship.

The jungle had broken away to reveal a large, concrete wall that curved off into the distance. As they clamored out of the vehicle, a graying, rotund man exited the structure to greet them, jogging slightly to reach the group.

Owen's eyebrows shot up as he took in a man that he never thought he would see again. Age had not been kind to Vic Hoskins, he mused internally. Then, the beginnings of panic began to creep into Owen's veins. Out of anyone on this island, Hoskins was the most likely to recognize Owen. After all, he had spent many, _many_ hours grilling Eric Kirby on raptors while the boy feigned ignorance and shot out backhanded, defensive comments. But before he could dwell on the feeling, Hoskins reached them.

"Well, well, well," he puffed, holding out his hand to Clint, shaking hands, and moving onto Liz. "If it isn't our potential new raptor trainers. Welcome to the Pit."

Hoskins held out his hand to Owen. There was no recognition in his eyes. Holding in a sigh of relief, Owen returned the handshake.

"The Pit?" Liz questioned.

"It's what we call our raptor holding cells. Come on in; I'll give you the tour."

The hallway of the pit had the cool of heavy cement and the neon gleam of electronic security measures. The group filed through the building, moving up a stairwell and out a door, into the bright sunlight. The Pit was, quite accurately, like a pit: It was a large, circular, concrete facility surrounding a small, open air enclosure. At the top of the facility, there was a rounded walkway to interact with the animals at a safe distance.

Owen raised his eyebrows. "Kind of small for a raptor enclosure." It was. There was no conceivable scenario in which the predators were happy in this cage; Rose would have attacked anyone who put her in such a tiny space with a vengeance.

"Well these aren't your average carnivores," Hoskins said.

Owen rolled his eyes. That wasn't an answer. At all.

"Where are the raptors?" Liz questioned.

"There's one in the tree line right over there," Owen answered immediately, pointing.

"How can you tell?"

"The wind's blowing all the leaves around that spot, but there's something stopping the wind right there. It's too small to be a tree, and even if it wasn't the foliage is too thick there for it to be a tree; a tree would have taken up too much nutrients for that many plants to also exist. But it is the right size for a raptor, and if you look really close you can see how the leaves have been disturbed and the ground has been scratched from where the velociraptor moved," he explained. To him, it was obvious. It wasn't possible for any of that to happen if something _wasn't_ there, and, in all likelihood, that something was a raptor considering it's a _velociraptor enclosure._ Owen glanced away from the greenery and focused back on his companions. They were all staring at him. Innocently, he blinked. "What?"

Claire shook her head. "Feel free to have a look around," she announced. "For the next month, you'll be responsible for coming up with a proposal for training. At the end of the month, the job will be assigned to whoever we feel has the greatest chance of training the pack."

Slowly, the group drifted off across the platform. As Owen walked, he noticed two more hidden raptors; he came to a stop above the last one. Unconsciously, he palmed the resonating chamber in his hand. He had attached it to a leather strip and hung it from his neck, keeping it slipped under his vest most of the time. As he thought, he rubbed the object between his hands. This was going to be a challenge, one unlike any he had encountered since Sorna. He had never attempted to train such an intelligent or deadly animal before; this job would come with no small amount of danger. In all honesty, Owen wasn't even sure if you _could_ train a raptor.

"Where'd you get that?"

Owen glanced over. Liz was watching him from the side, nodding towards the resonating chamber around his neck. _Alan Grant gave it to me because I may still remember some of the language of the velociraptors, which I learned while stranded on Sorna for eight weeks as a child. By the way, I'm Eric Kirby._ "Uh, internet," he said.

Owen wasn't sure if she believed him, but she nodded anyway. "Well, are you going to try it or what?"

Biting his lip, Owen thought about what to say. A greeting may be best, but he didn't know many of those and they may not even respond to the ones that he knew. Owen did know the sound for submission, but there was no way he'd ever say that; that could ruin any chances he had of training them. In the end, he settled on the sound for help; it was the one they were most likely to respond to. Raising the object to his lips, Owen let out deep, guttural, repeating noises. Almost instantly, the three raptors skidded out of their hiding places.

Liz let loose a laugh of surprise. "It worked!"

As Owen watched the raptors, he heard the pounding footsteps of the others running towards them. He ignored their questioning calls, instead studying the group. The raptors were a rustic brown-green color, with black eyes and deadly talons. The snaps of their tails were more aggressive than Owen had ever seen before, even amongst Genghis and Ingrid's pack. Suddenly, the one with the long, jagged scar across her side snarled loud. Owen didn't know what she was saying, but he knew it wasn't nice, and probably addressed to him. Coming to a decision, he lifted the mouthpiece back to his lips and voiced a short, chirpy greeting. Instantly, the scarred raptor whipped around and hissed at him with enough venom to make Owen wonder if he had mixed up his greetings with his insults. It was possible; they sounded disturbingly similar to his ears. But then the shorter, striped raptor to the left chirped out a high greeting, and Owen realized that the scarred one simply didn't like him. Proving him correct, the scarred one, who Owen had already mentally dubbed Natasha, snapped out at the striped one.

"Whoa," Clint breathed.

Natasha whipped back towards him, hissing out one of the few words Owen did know: a challenge. In response, Owen blew out the soothing tones of peace. Friend. Ally.

Stepping forward, Natasha snapped something that Owen would have known to be a denial even if he had never heard a raptor before. Then, glaring at her pack, she snapped an order and turned her back on the walkway, marching away. Following her lead, the two other pack members spun around and walked off.

As he lowered the resonating chamber from his lips, Owen smirked. He recognized this behavior. By turning her back on him, Natasha had deemed him to be a non-threat, and not in a good way. Instead, she had decreed him to be too weak to ever be a threat to her, and therefore the eternal rule of never turning your back on an enemy did not apply. Getting her to pay enough attention to him to actually train her would be difficult.

He had always liked a challenge.

Hoskins let out a low whistle, finally drawing Owen's attention away from the departing group. "Nice show you had there. Where'd you get that whistle?"

Biting back the comments that a perfect model of the resonating chamber of a velociraptor was most certainly _not_ a whistle, Owen muttered, "Bought it online."

"Well, I now that you've all met the pack, we might as well properly introduce them," Claire decreed. "The one who was just snapping at Mr. Grady was Subject V-2, the alpha. The striped raptor was V-3, and the mottled one was V-4, the beta."

Owen frowned. "But what are their names?" He had only been planning on keeping the name Natasha until he learned her actual name. And she had to have an actual name. In every study he had ever been on, the animals had names. Even in the long range, low interaction studies, they had names. And Jurassic World was famous for its high animal care; there was no way that they walked around calling them _V-Whatever._

Claire glanced at him in confusion. "I just told you, Mr. Grady."

Apparently there was a way. In hindsight, it had always been the members of the team invested in the animal's well-being and lifestyle that had determined the names; neither Ms. Dearing or Hoskins seemed very invested. Shaking his head, Owen vowed to remedy the situation as soon as he could. Which would suit the beta better, he wondered: Elektra or Arianna?

"What happened to V-1?" Art questioned, speaking up for the first time.

Dearing cleared her throat uncomfortably. "V-1 was the original alpha of the pack. V-2 killed her."

This wasn't surprising, not really. If V-2 was aggressive as she seemed, conducting a takeover was more likely than not, if she felt that she had a good chance of success. And, judging by the scar on her side, the fight must have been hard won.

"Well, it's a good thing you all showed up when you did," Hoskins jumped in. "You're just in time for their feeding."

As he spoke, the rickety motor of a crane blared to life. The pitiful moos of a cow drew Owen's attention, and as he glanced over he saw it be lowered into the cage.

The newly dubbed Elektra leapt first. Before it was even fully down, the raptor was on the cow, digging her claws into the unfortunate heifer's side in a splatter of blood. In the blink of an eye, Natasha and the final pack member - Ava, Owen was thinking - had joined Elektra. The cow died in a shower of blood, a cacophony of moos, and the rattle of harness. Owen forced himself not to look away, clutching the banister for support.

 _(Eric, run! Ru-)_

A heavy thud brought Eri - Owen back to reality. Clint - rugged, let-me-tell-you-about-the-gators-I-wrestled-just-the-other-day, Clint - had fallen in a dead faint, cracking his head on the metal railing on the way down. As the group rushed to check on him, Liz sidled up to Owen's side.

"This ought to be fun," she murmured.

* * *

Clint had left as soon as he regained consciousness, deciding to flee with his life and what little remained of his pride. In all honesty, that was probably the smartest decision possible in the situation, and the rest of the group should have followed his lead.

They didn't.

Until, strangely enough, Liz did. Just not for the same reason.

One week and three days into their time on the island, Liz Walker received a call offering her her dream job: The lead behaviorist on a study on Siberian Tigers. She said yes immediately.

"I've been hoping for a job like that for years," she explained to Owen privately. "While the raptors are amazing, they're not my passion. I can't pass an opportunity like this up."

During Liz's short time on the island, Owen had forged something akin to a friendship with her. Their conversations were a mix between friendly repertoire and a verbal sparring contest, both of them always on the alert for something from the other, even if they didn't know what that something was.

When Liz left, Owen walked her to the docks.

"You know, I looked up those resonating chambers of yours online," she said spontaneously. "Did you know that the sound quality is only as good as the skeleton it was based off of?"

Owen hummed noncommittally. "Is it? Must've gotten lucky with mine."

"Must have," she agreed. "But you know what's really strange? With such quality, the skeleton yours was modeled off must have had an entirely intact voice chamber. And the only velociraptor skeleton I could find like that was dug up by Alan Grant and Billy Brennan years ago."

Impassively, Owen remarked, "Strange." Unconsciously, his hand tightened into a fist. This was a mind game, just like every other one they had played since they set foot on this island. Don't show she's close to anything. Don't react. Admit to nothing. She doesn't care enough to really seek the issue out; she's just having fun.

They reached the docks, the boat rumbling in preparation before them. "Well, I guess this is it," she said, sticking out her hand.

"I guess so," he agreed, shaking it.

"Look me up if you're ever nearby my study," she said. "We'll catch up." Then, she turned and walked towards the boat, only to stop suddenly and spin back towards him. "These raptors," she called, looking thoughtful. "They're important to you, aren't they? More than just a job?"

Owen didn't answer. She didn't need him to.

"Good luck," she decided on. Then, with a strange inflection in her throat she said, "Grady."

* * *

When Owen Grady sent in a request for any taped interactions of both the Nublar raptors and the Sorna raptors, Claire Dearing began to get curious.

Of all their candidates, Grady was by far the strangest. The others were simple: Either they had left or they were in it for the high salary and to further their careers. Grady… didn't appear to want any of that. Grady hadn't left. He hadn't asked about the salary once. His career was so well established that he didn't need Jurassic World on his resume to make it to the big-time. For some reason, his sole motivator appeared to be the velociraptors.

And why the large carnivorous beasts were motivation for anything other than running, Claire didn't know.

Of course, caring about one's charges wasn't frowned upon in Jurassic World. In fact, it was almost mandatory. Those that cared had a more intrinsic motivation to go the extra mile that Jurassic World demanded in the care that their dinosaurs received. Often, the best workers were the ones that loved their animals the most.

But there were also the ones that cared toomuch. They were the ones that usually decided it was cruel to keep the poor, defenseless, _deadly_ dinosaurs locked up and tried to release them, which would end up causing mass panic and death if they succeeded.

They didn't. Ever. Because Claire Dearing was damn good at her job, and she had taken measures to prevent just that from happening.

Grady didn't seem like the type to do that, though. As an ex-SEAL that had only left because they made him leave - after almost losing his arm and getting not one, but several medals in the process - he seemed to be more of the "serve and protect" type than the "set the bloodthirsty animals free" type. And if it had been any other dinosaur that he had been working with, Claire would have left it at that.

But it wasn't any other dinosaur. It was the velociraptors. And Claire couldn't leave anything with them to chance, even seemingly harmless oddities.

"Hold off on sending those just yet," she told Lowrey. "I want to talk to him."

The employee housing was a row of apartments buildings at the edge of the island that made Claire instantly thankful she had her own place. As she made her way through the cluttered hallways, the click-clack of her tall white heels drew attention from the occupants. Curious glances followed the Ice-Queen Claire Dearing as she walked up to newbie Owen Grady's room, knocking politely on the door and waiting.

A startled thud sounded from the other end of the door, followed by a muffled curse and a shouted, "Coming!"

The door jerked open to reveal a rumpled Owen Grady blinking at her in confusion. "Ms. Dearing. Can I help you?"

Quickly, she pasted on one of her patented smiles reserved for business. "Yes, actually. May I come in?"

"Uh, yeah," he fumbled, jerking the door open and moving out of the way. "Come on in; sorry about the mess."

Carefully, Claire navigated the stacks of papers with a raised eyebrow. Notes were scrawled all over the place, shoved onto the wall in a mural of sticky-notes. The corkboard was cluttered with papers, some of which didn't appear to be written in English. His computer was still running, an image of V-2 snapping at a security camera playing on the screen, and there were at least four different tape recorders on his desk. Grady was definitely up to something; whether that was his job or something else entirely was what she needed to find out. Of course, she couldn't just come out and ask him what; that would just make him defensive and lessen her chances of getting actual answers. It would be much better to put him at ease first.

"Who are they?" she questioned, nodding towards the framed pictures on the bedside table.

The images appeared to be the only personal effects in the room; everything else was work-related. There were only three pictures: one of two identical, laughing girls; one of group of around six men in a dusty landscape, an armored truck behind them; and the last of Grady himself with, strangely enough, a monkey on his back.

"Well, that's a few of the guys I used to serve with," he explained, pointing at the picture of the men. "And that one's my goddaughter Dani and her twin Dawn. That last one is a photo of Amy, the gorilla I worked with a while back. I'm sorry, can I ask why you're here? I doubt all your employees warrant the personal visit of the Park Operations Manager."

"I was curious," she began, "about why you wanted the video recordings. No one else has asked for them."

Owen looked at her oddly. "I'm a behaviorist, Ms. Dearing. I wanted to study their behavior."

"Let me rephrase my statement," she stated, stepping closer. "You have shown a pattern of unusual behavior since you have started here, Mr. Grady. You have made requests no one else has, you have exhibited a previous knowledge of the raptors that is suspect, and no one is quite sure of your motivations. And I apologize if I am misreading the situation, but I have to be sure for the safety of the park. What I am here for, Mr. Grady, is an assurance that nothing is amiss."

Slowly, the former SEAL let out a puff of air. He looked stunned. "O-kay…. I'm not going to lie, I was not expecting that. What exactly are you accusing me of?"

"At the moment, nothing. Let me be clear, I do not wish to falsely charge you with anything. However, Jurassic World has been subjected to a series of hazards over the years, from corporate espionage to radical activists. As a result, we have had to been extremely careful with our potential employees, especially those who have access to our animals. The more dangerous the animal, the more careful we must be. And as someone who has access to our most dangerous species, you are naturally under more scrutiny than others. I am certain that we can easily resolve this with some discussion, Mr. Grady."

Uncertainly, he nodded. "Right. Where do you want to start?" Propping himself against the edge of the desk, Owen gestured towards the chair in invitation. Shaking her head, she stepped closer to the desk, and the mess of information lying there.

"Why is it that you need the videos?" she questioned as she studied the papers. "No one else has requested them."

"I need to compare behaviors between packs in order to establish a baseline between learned behavior and instinct," he answered instantly.

Claire shot him a confused look. She was far from unintelligent, but animal behaviorism was not her specialty. While she had understood most of what he was saying, the underlying significance was lost.

"Velociraptors are highly intelligent," Owen explained. "The most intelligent I've ever worked with. With some animals, you can fairly easily understand them as a group because a lot of their behavior is instinctual. With others - usually the more intelligent animals - you have to study the specific group themselves because they learned their behavior from one another. If I can compare between two packs that developed independently from one another, I can establish a better baseline as to what's instinct and what's learned."

"And you hope to gain what exactly from this?"

For a moment, Owen Grady contemplated her. Then, he stated with a hint of a challenge in his voice, "Language."

Claire stared at him uncomprehendingly. "They're _animals,_ Mr. Grady; they don't have a language."

"Actually, studies suggest that animals are more capable of language than humans commonly believe. Honey bees can communicate complicated, exact locations to one another through their dance. Vervet monkeys have over thirty distinct alarm calls to alert group members to the different types of predators and the direction that the predators approach. And primates," he said, nodding towards the picture of Amy, "have not only been able to become proficient in ASL, but they speak in unique word combinations. They aren't just utilizing rigid sentences they were trained in, but they come up with them on their own. Amy herself had an extensive vocabulary. She could swear like a sailor," Owen remembered fondly.

"You want to teach our dinosaurs to swear like sailors?" Claire asked dryly.

Owen started. "Ms. Dearing, are you aware you just made a funny?" he wryly asked. Then, he sobered. "Velociraptors are more intelligent than primates, that's been proven. If gorillas can speak ASL, then its highly likely that their more intelligent counterparts had communication of their own. With the organization their attacks exhibit, they'd have to have some way of planning it, and they'd need a language for that. Maybe if I can compare two packs, I can establish if some of that language is instinctive and therefore common amongst raptors, or if it is all developed independently between packs."

"Okay, say that you do figure all of this out. What then?"

"This is all just theoretical, at the moment," he diplomatically stated. "I'd prefer not to commit to anything until I figure out more. Next question?"

For a moment, Claire considered pressing the previous topic before deciding to move on. She knew a lost cause when she saw one. "What is all this?" she questioned, gesturing at the mess before her.

"Work," Owen said succinctly.

Claire gave him a _look._

"What?" he defended. "It is work! Those are my notes regarding the behaviors of Natasha, Elektra, and Ava. They're still pretty scrambled, but they're getting clearer."

"...Natasha, Elektra, and Ava?"

"The raptors."

"The raptors already have names."

"No, they have designations. When you call them that, it sounds like you're shopping for produce."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does. 'Price check on item V-3.' 'Can't find the celery? Well, that's in aisle V-2.' 'I checked the product manifest, and carrots are listed as -'"

"I get it," Claire cut off, rubbing her temples.

"They're good names, and those are good notes," he defended.

"That is not English," she stated randomly, pointing at some of the papers.

Owen raised an eyebrow. "No, it's not."

"How many languages do you speak?" she demanded. "I gathered ASL from your past with Amy, but other languages weren't mentioned in your file."

"They wouldn't be," he responded. "I never had an official class in most of them, didn't major in any of them in college or anything, and most of my other jobs cared more about if I could train the animals than what languages I could speak. Let me see," he thought. "A friend taught me Spanish as a kid, and I picked ASL up back then too. I was homeschooled, so I was bored a lot and languages were something to do. I learned some German from my elderly next door neighbor as a kid out of necessity because she literally only spoke that, but I never became fluent or anything. I can still carry on basic conversations, though. While I was in the service I became pretty fluent in Farsi and Arabic, and I picked up a little Russian from this guy I worked with who would randomly go off in tangents in the language. I can understand French fine, but I can't speak it at all. Honestly, my pronunciation is _terrible_. The guy who taught me it declared my accent to be an international crime. Sometimes I write my notes in other languages, just to keep in practice. How exactly does this determine if I'm trustworthy?"

"It doesn't. Jurassic World is an international corperation; we get visitor from all over the globe. We prefer our employees to embrace that reality by speaking multiple languages."

Grady nodded. "Any more questions?"

Claire pondered the man. Her gut stated that he wasn't a problem, and she tended to trust her instincts; they were usually right.

But there was still one thing about the man that bothered her.

"Why did they call you Crazy?"

Owen's eyebrows shot up. "That nickname? While I was in the service, I was a pretty good tactician. Used to come up with plans that everyone else called crazy to deal with impossible situations. The nickname stuck."

"How many of the plans worked?"

"All of them. Some," he said, a faraway look on his face as he unconsciously touched his side, "had less success than others, but they still worked. Every last one."

And Claire found that she had no more questions.

* * *

Owen had plans and he had problems. And at the moment, the problems outweighed the plans.

He hadn't liked having to explain said plans when they were still in the works, but it had been easier than arguing. If he had argued, it would have only pitted Ms. Dearing against him, and lessened the chances of him getting the job. And, with the amount of problems he had, he didn't need any more difficulties.

For one thing, he still had to figure out how to train the raptors. He did want to try with the resonating chamber, but he couldn't walk up to his potential employers and say 'I wish to speak their language' without coming off as a nut. That problem, however, was easily fixed by presenting Plan B, clicker training (Billy had introduced him to the method, back when was still training dogs in the shelter, and in Owen's experience it was very successful), as his Plan A, and working on the resonating chamber on the side.

Of course, the resonating chamber itself had its own problems.

From the videos and his memory, Owen was able to find a correlation between languages of the Sorna raptors and the Nublar raptors, meaning the language was at least partially instinctual. But there were also major differences, meaning it was also learned and Owen would have to decode every nuance of Natasha's pack's dialect, or at least enough to have a decent understanding.

Which, needless to say, would be difficult.

The biggest problem, however, was the fact that Owen had no idea how to get Natasha's pack to listen to him. They already had an established Alpha; obeying someone else was against their very nature.

Which led to the very important question: How do you get an animal pack with an established hierarchy to obey someone not part of said hierarchy?

And Owen realized that you couldn't.

You just couldn't.

* * *

The day of the presentations, Owen went last.

Art Davis was the only other one of the possible trainers still there, and he had volunteered to go first. All in all, Owen felt pretty ambivalent about the man. They didn't know each other all that well; they hadn't spent all that much time together. What he did know was that Art was quiet, hardworking, and wanted this job very, very badly.

He also knew that Art's idea could never work.

Electric shock training had very strong arguments both for and against, and in some cases, the training technique had been successful (not that Owen himself had ever utilized it). He also knew that Jurassic World had some limited history with its use, with their invisible fences, and that some species had begun to avoid the fences altogether thanks to the method.

It could not, however, work with the velociraptors. Ever.

Really, it would only piss them off.

Unfortunately, Owen could only hope that Jurassic World saw it the same way.

"All right, Mr. Grady," Claire said evenly. She was part of the reviewal team, along with Hoskins. She was one of the ones he had to convince. "How do you suggest we train these raptors?"

Owen took a deep breath. Hopefully, this wouldn't backfire terribly. "You can't."

She frowned. "Are you ceding the position to Mr. Davis?"

"No," he said firmly. "I'm telling you it's impossible to train these raptors. They already have an established pack hierarchy; short of walking in there and beating the Alpha in a physical confrontation and becoming the Alpha myself they will never listen to any orders I try to train them in."

Still frowning, Claire opened her mouth. Before she could say anything, Owen rushed to continue. "My suggestion is to start fresh. Get a new pack and raise them from birth. The imprinting process will help cultivate loyalty, and the only conceivable way of becoming the Alpha of the pack will be to establish myself when they're too young to challenge me. And I would need to be Alpha; they'd never listen otherwise."

"What you're suggesting is to spend millions of dollars on a new pack when we have one already," Claire argued.

"It's the only way," Owen insisted. "Training can only take us so far; these animals have billions of years of instinct dictating what they do, and obeying someone who is not Alpha goes against that instinct. If we don't have a human leading the pack, the members will never listen to us."

The rest of the meeting mostly consisted of Art and Owen taking turns at arguing their idea, with Dearing playing Devil's Advocate and Hoskins adding inane commentary. It ended with the promise of debating both possibilities and getting back to them within the week.

Six days later, Owen got a call.

Art Davis had received the job of Head Velociraptor Trainer.

* * *

The knock at his door had been unexpected. Owen didn't know many people at Jurassic World, and therefore there weren't many people who would come to see him. Tossing one last shirt in his suitcase, the former SEAL jogged to the door, jerking it open abruptly.

"Ms. Dearing?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Mr. Grady," she greeted. "Are you busy?"

"Packing," he explained, jerking his thumb towards the room.

"I see. Could I have a moment? There's something I wish to discuss with you."

Owen opened the door in invitation. Wordlessly, she entered, taking in the somewhat messy room with a practiced air. "We are having problems with our dilophosaurus," she began suddenly. "They have repeatedly discovered weaknesses in the fences. A few days ago, one of the handlers was almost blinded."

Which was bad, but did not pertain to him in any way. Owen stared at her in expectation. "Okay?" he prompted.

"We would like to hire you as a consultant to fix the problem," she finished smoothly.

"Don't you already have people on your payroll for that?" he wondered aloud.

"Yes, and they have failed. That's why we want to hire you. It's the standard consultant fee; you will be well compensated for any inconvenience."

Owen considered the proposition. He didn't really have any other jobs lined up after this one, so staying wouldn't be a problem. He had plenty of experience with the dilophosaurus, thanks to his time on Sorna (not that Jurassic World knew that), so the job itself wouldn't be much of a problem.

But did he want to stay?

Owen wasn't going to lie, not getting the job was seriously disappointing. He had become almost attached to Natasha, Elektra, and Ava, despite the fact that they would kill him in a moment. What's more, he had been excited at the prospect of interacting with raptors again - which was clearly a sign of insanity, but Owen hadn't considered himself 100% sane in a long time. In all honesty, the best thing to do would probably be to move past the missed opportunity as quickly as possible, instead of dwelling on the pain.

But on the island, he could breathe.

And if he left, there was no guarantee he would _continue_ to breathe so easily.

And if he took the dilophosaurus job, he would have a precious few more weeks on the island.

But there was still something he wanted to know.

"Why me?" he asked. "There are probably still plenty of people you could call for the job. So why me?"

"Are you accepting?"

"That depends."

For a moment, Claire looked pensive. Eventually, she decided upon, "Instinct."

In the short time he had known her, Owen had formed several impressions about Jurassic World's fearless leader. One such impression was that she relied on precise, exacting logic. Life was a business transaction, and she was nothing if not an excellent business woman. And, in a way, Owen could understand that. That was her world, her school of thought. It didn't align with _Owen's_ way of thinking, but his had been forged so tightly in instinct during Sorna that few people's did. And while her occasional way of treating things as easily controllable variables had rankled him, he didn't hold their differences against her.

But now, she was claiming she had made a decision based on instinct, and she didn't seem to be lying. A lesser person would have discounted their instincts, shoving them aside for the safe, comfortable realm of logic. Instead, Claire Dearing had listened to her gut.

In that moment, Owen's esteem for her rose.

Slowly, he nodded. "Well, it's a good thing I haven't gotten very far in my packing, then."

Ms. Dearing gave him a manufactured smile. "I'll have my assistant send over the paperwork, Mr. Grady."

"Owen," he decided.

"I'm sorry?"

"You can call me Owen."

While Claire may not know it yet, Owen's name was precious to him. It had been the first real thing he could control in his life after the Incident; he didn't hand it out to just anybody. In fact, Claire Dearing was possibly the first person to have received permission to call him Owen without being quasi-related to him or been in combat with him. Strangely enough, those five words were likely the most impulsive thing he had done in a long time.

Which was saying quite a lot, all things considered. Hopefully, it wouldn't blow up in his face somehow.

But he had good instincts. And his instincts said that it wouldn't.

* * *

Claire Dearing had good instincts. And her instincts were telling her that Art Davis was a risk.

He wasn't a risk in a traditional sense; he wasn't actively planning against the park. No, he was a risk simply because he wanted too much to succeed in a job he wasn't any good at.

Claire wasn't stupid, contrary to what some of the _actually_ stupid wished to believe. Hoskins, being one of those stupid, thought that she hadn't noticed that Davis wasn't very well established in his career before receiving job opportunity for the raptor position. In fact, while he had excellent success in the small gigs he had in the past, none of his past jobs were even _close_ to the one he was performing now. Likely, he had managed to get into the program because he had friends in high places.

Which, honestly, Claire wouldn't have minded much. While she herself had gotten to where she was today through a brutal struggle to the top, she understood the practice of using one's connections whenever possible. In fact, Claire had several very successful associates who had kickstarted their careers that same way.

But this wasn't some mid-level management position. It wasn't a safe, low-risk job. It was velociraptors. And if he caused a security risk, he would endanger the entire island.

And so when they were deciding who received the position, Claire fought for Owen Grady.

Hard.

He was the smarter choice, she believed. Granted, he had his oddities, and cared more about the assets than she herself could comprehend - Natasha, Elektra, and Ava? Really? - but at the end of the day, Owen Grady was a soldier at heart. He had gone the distance to protect his country, and, if need be, Claire felt he would protect the innocents in the park from his charges. The velociraptors would be much safer in the hands of seasoned veteran than some rookie who wanted to kick start his career early. Not only that, but, for all her haranguing, she had felt that Mr. Grady - Owen's proposal had a better chance at success.

Her superiors had not felt the same way.

Financially, Davis' plan was more viable. The cost of utilizing a technology they already possessed was far less than it would be to create a new pack altogether. While Hammond's old motto of "spare no expense" was memorable, it wasn't a practical way to run a company. At the end of the day, the board wanted the pack they already had to be trained.

And so, against her better judgement, Art Davis received the job.

Naturally, Claire found an excuse to keep Owen on the island for a few more weeks.

Honestly, it wasn't that much of an excuse; they really did have a problem with the dilophosaurus, and it was highly likely Grady could fix it. By hiring him, she was saving herself from spending a frustrating several more months of haggling the trainers she already had to fix a problem they claimed was "impossible."

Apparently, Owen Grady had built an entire nickname over his creative solutions to impossible situations, so this shouldn't be a problem at all.

And if Davis crashed and burned during his first couple weeks, as she suspected he would, then at least she would be able to wrangle Grady into damage control.

Claire was nothing if not pragmatic.

And now, over a month after he began the job, Claire could see the sparks beginning to ignite. Davis' method was failing; the raptors were only angered by his directions. From what she had learned in her years working at Jurassic World, the more experienced trainers wouldn't be discouraged by this. It wasn't exactly unusual for an animal to respond negatively in the first few weeks; most trainers would chalk it up to needing more time, or a tweak of the technique.

Only Art Davis wasn't experienced. And he was panicking.

It appeared that Claire had been correct about his friends, because more than one high-placed individual had personally called him for progress. And it appeared that they weren't particularly good friends, as each call only made him more nervous. Claire could understand that; while she had spent years in close proximity with professional animal trainers, giving her at least a rudimentary knowledge of the basics, the board members _hadn't,_ and they were much more interested in immediate results than the "wait and see" approach. Likely, they were demanding _some_ results after they had stuck their neck out for him. Even more likely, they had probably threatened his future career if he didn't produce said results in some inane attempt to motivate him. Claire had seen the cracks forming in his facade: Art Davis was desperate.

Desperate men did desperate things.

Recently, he had announced that he had pinpointed the reason training was so unsuccessful, and had vowed to remedy the situation that coming Friday. Personally, Claire did not want to see what he had in mind; it had the signs of a rapidly-forming lawsuit. Unfortunately, she had no choice but to be party to the idiocy.

At least Davis could choose a good time to fall apart. Grady had finished his assignment and was about to leave the island; if he had waited any longer, she may have lost that potential resource altogether.

Unfortunately, talking to Owen meant that she had to make yet another commute down to employee housing.

Claire would vastly prefer to revert to old business tactics, calling him down to her office and making him be the one to wait. Normally, that would be a good way to establish her dominance in the meeting. However, a good tactician chose their battleground carefully, and with Grady, intimidation would be the wrong move. Claire had listened to Greenway's _detailed_ tales of the man; she knew that he hadn't responded to any attempts at intimidation by SEAL trainers or armed insurgents alike. And while Claire had no illusions about just how terrifying some of the staff found her, she also knew that Owen Grady found the _velociraptors_ to be _endearing._ She doubt any scare tactics would have much of an effect on him. No, it was better to enter his home turf, and put him at ease in his surroundings. He'd be much more likely to cooperate that way.

As she entered the building, Claire made a mental note to have the hallways repapered. There were stains on those walls that likely predated the actual Jurassic Period. Walking down the hall once more, Claire Dearing drew even more stares and whispers than before, reaching a climax when she stopped at Owen's door.

Great. Now her employees probably thought they were dating or some other inane thing.

Quickly, Claire knocked. The less time she had to spend on his doorstep, the better. No answer. She knocked again, groaning as not even a sound responded to her inquiry. He was probably out. Claire checked her watch. Owen was scheduled for the early-morning ferry; if she didn't catch him tonight, it would be too late.

"Ms. Dearing, we have to stop meeting like this."

Claire turned calmly turned around (spinning about in surprise was for those who lacked control; she hadn't done it since she was a teenager). "Mr. Grad - Owen," she corrected herself.

"What brings you to my humble abode?" he questioned, shouldering past her to insert his key in the lock. "Or, well, your humble abode seeing as this is only mine for one more night. There isn't any more problems with the dilophosaurus, is there?"

"Of course not, we're very happy with your work. May we discuss this inside?"

"Well, every other meeting has taken place inside; I don't really see a reason to break tradition. Come on in."

Claire took in the space with a raised eyebrow. Where before it was messy, now it was almost obsessively neat. The bed was made, there wasn't a stray article anywhere, and a single duffel bag was lined up next to the door."

"Military," Owen explained. "Not allowed to be messy there; the habits stick with you. I'm only disorganized when I'm too busy working. What's up?"

"I would like to hire you as a consultant."

Owen looked at her in surprise. "Again?"

"On the raptors," she finished.

Owen paused. He stared at her, paused again, and shook his head. "I'm going to let you finish, because I obviously have no idea what's going on."

"Davis' project is going south. His idea is not panning out, and he's cracking under the pressure from above. I'd like you there to sort out any potential problems."

"His project hasn't been going on for very long. Give it more time."

"We don't have more time. He's claimed that he's found the problem, and is going to fix it on Friday once everything is in place. I'm worried about what 'fixing it' entails."

"I'm not about to walk in there and tell him how to do his job; he was given it for a reason."

"You don't have to. All you have to do as act as a security consultant for one day. That's it."

Owen looked doubtful. "A security consultant?"

"Just ensure that nothing is a danger to a park." That was certainly all that Claire cared about; she wasn't all that interested in the raptors otherwise, other than their marketing potential. "You don't have to say a word towards the training."

Grady appeared to be swaying. "And only on Friday? No other last minute consultant jobs?"

"You have my word."

Slowly, Owen nodded. "Okay. One day," he stated firmly. "I'm not about to take over another man's project."

Claire smiled.

* * *

When Owen agreed to supervise IBRIS on Friday, he hadn't been expecting much. Granted, he realized that his presence would likely annoy those on the project - which it did, but what Dearing says goes - but he didn't see himself having to _do_ all that much. Watch the monitors for a few hours, make sure the raptors didn't escape while Davis "fixed" whatever. All in all, he saw himself getting a few more hours of watching raptors and a good paycheck, before leaving the island and his past behind once and for all.

He hadn't, however, been expecting Davis to have the most dumbass, moronic, _dangerous_ idea of all time.

Which is exactly what he told Davis. Who hadn't taken his opinion well.

Of course, that didn't make Owen any less right.

Because he was right. So very right.

"You said yourself that the raptors wouldn't listen to anyone who hadn't faced the Alpha," Davis argued.

"And I said that as a reason why it was _impossible,_ not as an invitation to try it!"

"It's perfectly safe-"

"They're _raptors,_ it's never safe!" Owen shouted, exasperated.

Davis glared at him, frazzled. He didn't look his best, all things considered. "Cracking" was a very accurate description, in his opinion. The signs of stress were clearly visible on his facade, and Owen wondered what exactly was on the line to make him act this way. Whatever it was, it _wasn't_ worth his life.

Owen spun on Hoskins. "You can't let him do this."

The man arranged his face in what was almost a thoughtful manner while he stroked his goatee stereotypically. "It uses the same technology Jurassic World uses to contain their animals. The invisible fences work; he'll be fine."

"The invisible fences are for _herbivores!"_ Owen exclaimed, exasperated. "The fences we are using _right now_ for these raptors are certainly not _invisible."_

"You're only here as a courtesy to Dearing, Grady," Davis snapped, finally losing his temper. "The extent of your job in dealing with something that is a threat to park security. Until that happens, you have no control over what we do here."

And the sad thing was, he was right. Until the _idiocy_ that was about to happen presented an immediate danger to the park, Owen couldn't interfere.

And it was idiocy. Complete and utter idiocy.

The raptors hadn't been responding to Davis' instructions. Instead, they looked to their Alpha for instructions, who promptly instructed them to ignore whatever Davis was doing. As a result, not only had they failed to learn a single, basic command, but their obedience had actually _deteriorated_ since training had begun. They were deliberately antagonistic, snapping at the crew at every opportunity and increasing their escape attempts exponentially. Natasha, Elektra, and Ava had become dangerous to even be in sight, making training an impossibility.

And Davis had decided that the reason behind the failure was the pack's deference to Natasha.

He also decided that the only way to get the pack to listen to him was to face her in the Pit.

Shocking her into submission while on the overhang hadn't worked; it had only pissed her off further. Now, Davis was convinced that he needed to be on equal footing to establish dominance over her, and if he was able to cow Natasha into submission, then, theoretically, he would establish himself as higher in the pack hierarchy, forcing her to follow orders in the future, and the rest of the raptors would follow suit. Using the invisible fence, he _should_ be able to keep her at a fifty foot radius - should being the key word.

With the raptors, things never went as planned, Owen knew this. Pinning your survival on the hope that the electric zaps would stop the enraged velociraptor was the epitome of stupidity.

And Art Davis was many things, but he wasn't stupid. Why his brain chose _now_ of all times to go on a vacation, Owen didn't know.

The call of "open the gate" alerted Owen to his failure at convincing them. Frustrated, he marched over to the monitors to watch the feed. Easily, he picked up Natasha, who was standing in the clearing near the gate.

Owen frowned. "Why is she bleeding?"

A tech glanced over at him disinterestedly. "They injure themselves sometimes. Fighting and stuff. As long as it's not serious, we don't worry about it."

Owen chewed his lip in worry. Elektra and Ava weren't in sight, not that that meant much; they could hide anywhere, and be near impossible to see. Quickly, he tapped on their profiles in the computer system. They were chipped, but, with the way the system was set up, he couldn't track them unless he accessed their files separately. According to their tracers, they were together, deeper in the forest. This wasn't unusual; packs didn't stay together every second of every day, so the fact that they weren't all together wasn't all that strange.

Quickly, he switched his attention back to the feed. Davis was visible now, standing maybe seventy-five feet away from Natasha. The raptor wasn't approaching, instead standing in place while her tail slowly swished.

"Are you certain that the raptor can't get close to him?" Owen called, worried.

"Don't worry about it," the tech answered, waving him off. "We've established a radius around Davis; if V-2 breaches the line, it'll be turned off by a shock. We've used this method to corral other dinosaurs before, and it's worked every time."

"Yeah, alright," Owen mumbled, chewing his lip. He glanced back at the video monitor. Natasha and Davis were still there, Davis slowly approaching her. Suddenly, he noticed the movement of her mouth, and the puff of her chest.

Who was she talking to?

"Does this have audio?" he asked, glancing back at the tech again. Impatiently, the man shoved a pair of headphones in his direction, indicating towards the audio jack before turning back to his computer. Owen quickly brought the earbuds to his ears and listened to the accompanying grainy audio.

Natasha was speaking. But they weren't threats.

Owen barely recognized any of the sounds she was making, but he knew she wasn't talking to Davis. With raptors, the association between the members of a conversation could often be discovered by the underlying tone of the speaker's croaks. Natasha's voice had none of the harsh growl reserved for enemies; instead, he heard the soft hum that he suspected was used for either pack members or allies - he hadn't figured out which yet.

But there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hell that she was talking to Davis.

Alarmed, Owen bolted straight in his seat and began scanning the treeline. He couldn't see a raptor, not on the grainy image, but there could still be one. He quickly tapped on Elektra and Ava's profiles again, only to see that they were in the same place as before. Then, he tapped on Natasha's profile.

According to her tracer, she was in the exact same place as Elektra and Ava.

Swearing, Owen jumped out of his seat, his mind racing. There was no way the system had frozen; everything else was working perfectly, and it was designed to refresh every three seconds. Somehow, Natasha was deep in the forest while simultaneously being in the clearing.

Then, he thought back to her bloody back, and he realized that just because her tracer was one place didn't mean that she was with.

Owen spun on Hoskins. "Get him out of there."

"Are you kidding me? We're just about to start the trai-"

" _The raptors tore out their tracers!"_ Owen snapped, shoving his finger at the computer screen. "They could be anywhere! Use the electric shocks, cause a distraction, but _get him out!"_

For the first time, a glimmer of worry descended over his smug facade. Quickly, the man bustled out of his chair and jerked the computer screen towards him.

It was the tech that spoke next, fear lacing his voice. "The tracers are what we use to generate the electric shocks. If they tore those out, we don't have a fence."

It took a moment for what he was saying to sink in. With a sinking feeling, Owen realized that not only were they blind, but they had no way of stopping the raptors in there.

Moving quickly, Owen whirled over to the intercom and slammed his hand on the speaker. "Davis, start walking back towards the gate slowly, and _don't turn your back on the raptors,_ " he intoned. Stay calm. If anyone panicked, they would spook the raptors, and the last thing anyone wanted was a spooked velociraptor.

On the feed, Owen could see Art glance up towards the control room, puzzled. He opened his mouth to speak -

Elektra tore out of the bushes and slammed into him.

Ava wasn't far behind.

Behind him, Owen could hear the panicked swears and curses of Hoskins and the tech as a shower of red erupted from Davis' arm. Elektra's jaws clamped down on his shoulder like a bear trap, tearing him down to the ground. Walking sedately, Natasha smugly made her way to the prone trainer

Owen's hand slammed back down on the intercom as he ripped the leather cord from his neck, raising the resonating chamber to his lips.

Owen would like to say that he knew the exact phrase to say. He would like to say that he had figured out the one word combination that could make the raptors stop.

But he didn't.

Instead, a meaningless screech tumbled from his lips and over the intercom. Natasha had paused briefly, glancing up at the camera before closing the distance between her and her prey.

Then, she took Art Davis' head in her jaws and snapped his neck.

* * *

Vic Hoskins had always hated complications. And IBRIS had had more than its fair share of complications. For one thing, just getting it off the ground had been near impossible. After that disaster of a first park, the idea of creating another raptor pack had been understandingly taboo, but he had cajoled, fanangled, and occasionally blackmailed his way to a raptor pack. Then, he had to go through the incredibly lengthy process of creating a viable raptor pack, with all the annoyances of having the majority of the animals die, and the headache of having one of the survivors slaughter the other in an attempt for supremacy.

But all of that paled in comparison to the complications that arose from the assets killing their trainer.

Because now, Masrani Global was considering cancelling his long fought-for program.

Vic Hoskins had plans, and he wasn't about to give them up. Ever since he had heard the accounts of those first survivors of Jurassic Park, and watched the saved footage of the raptors, he had known that he had found his perfect war machines. Nature's perfect killing machines, ready and ripe for the taking. Ready for war.

And wherever there was war, there was also money.

Hoskins wasn't some idealistic moron; he didn't have some starry-eyed notion of a perfect task force to protect their troops and save American lives and blah blah blah… No, life had made him practical. He knew that at the end of the day, there were no heroes. There wasn't anyone who did something just because it was the "right thing," not anymore.

Now, nobody _really_ did anything unless they benefited it. And personally, he didn't see anything wrong with that. Wars were expensive, and would continue to be expensive whether or not he got involved. But if he _did_ get involved, and had the right product, then a lot of those expenses could be funneled in his direction.

And with the raptors, Vic could see himself carving a very large slice of that particular pie.

Of course, none of that could happen if the project was terminated before it even started.

"What are we talking damage wise?" one of the board members questioned, pulling him back to the problem at hand.

"Well, obviously we'll have to terminate the pack," inserted one of the park managers. "They've become too dangerous to keep alive."

"What about Davis? What are the repercussions of his incident?"

"Nothing really," Hoskins inserted. "He signed just about every waiver under the sun before taking the job, and even more before entering the Pit. His only relatives are estranged, and they're entitled to a flat rate and nothing more. Thanks to his employee contract, they don't have any legal right to more."

"Let's move onto something more important," another board member, Adams, interrupted. "The future of IBRIS."

Inwardly, Hoskins steeled himself. He wasn't the only one in Masrani Global who had designs for the program; just because Masrani had decided to bury his head in the sand, it didn't mean all the board members had decided to follow his example. The more pragmatic, intelligent of them understood where the cards laid, and they had a stake in the program's success. He wouldn't be the only one fighting for its survival.

The problem, however, was gaining enough support from the other members.

"Do we really have to discuss it? It's a failure; we can't continue it in light of what has happened," one argued.

"We've already invested a lot in the project," another shot back. "Do we really want to throw that all away because of a personnel failure?"

"A personnel _death,_ you mean. Who would even take the job after that?"

"Davis was a mistake," Hoskins interrupted. "He was too inexperienced for the position, and he cracked under the pressure. That doesn't mean there isn't someone else for the job. There was another man up for the position, an ex-SEAL. He's got an impressive record; he can handle the raptors."

"We've heard about Grady," someone dismissed. "Just like we've heard that he was there during the incident, and nobody paid attention to him until someone was dead. You didn't seem to think he was half as capable as you claim he is before the program was being canned."

Hoskins clenched his hands under the table as he imagined the raptors going after the moron sitting across him. "Grady's proposal was trashed because at the time we deemed it to be unnecessarily expensive. Now, we obviously know that his suggestions were correct. If we implement his plan, IBRIS has a good shot at success."

At the beginning of the project, he had dismissed Grady as too stubborn to cooperate. However, now he could see that he was wrong. Grady was a dog of war, and he was exactly the type of starry-eyed fool to put it all on the line if it meant saving soldiers' lives. He would comply, he just needed to be convinced.

"So you claim. But at the end of the day, all we know that there's a better chance at failure. I say we just cut our losses now."

"The raptor project has the potential to generate a lot of funds. Are we really willing to abandon that?"

"If we keep taking risks on this project, we keep opening ourselves up to bigger and bigger issues."

As the table dissolved into arguing, Hoskins gritted his teeth in determination. He wasn't about to give up on this project, not without a fight.

Claire found him right before he was about to leave on the ferry. Despite the fact that it was five in the morning, she still looked impossibly put-together.

"Whatever it is, I've already packed and unpacked three times," Owen warned off. "I'm not interested."

"I don't believe either of us want to beat around the bush," Claire cut in, impatient. "Shall I just cut to the chase?"

Owen stopped, looking at the ferry forlornly. It wasn't leaving for a good fifteen minutes, he had time. "Yeah, sure. What can I do for you, Ms. Dearing?"

"Jurassic World would like to offer you the position of Head Raptor Trainer for IBRIS."

Owen looked at her as if she were crazy. "A man is dead."

"We deeply regret that. However, we still feel the project has the potential for success. If you accept the position, you will have the full support of Jurassic World to implement your original plan."

"Uh-huh," Owen said, sounding skeptical. "What exactly is on the line if I say no?"

Dearing paused, then sighed. "May I level with you, Mr. Grady?"

"I would prefer it, actually."

"One of the board members knew an officer you served under in the Navy. They made a call, got a glowing review, and at the end of the day, the project got enough votes to keep it afloat as long as you're the Head. They left it to me to get you on board. What will it take to get you on board?"

"You expect me to enter into the project after I watched the raptors kill someone?" he asked in disbelief.

Well, he had already seen them kill someone before he even set foot on the island, but she didn't know that.

It was a beautiful thing to know you held all the cards.

If he accepted the position, he would be responsible for the raptors. If they went south, any deaths that happened would be on his head. He wasn't about to stick his head in the sand and ignore all the problems with Jurassic World, or with the way they had run the program so far. However, now he had leverage. If he took precautions, he could end some mistakes before they began.

"I get to decide when the raptors are ready," Owen said. "Davis died because the higher-ups were too impatient to wait for results; I'm not about to make the same mistake."

"You will have oversight on the project," Claire argued. "They will still expect results. However, I can ensure you have the final say."

The ferry left while they were still negotiating. By the time they finished, the sun had risen in the sky and Owen had wrangled a bungalow, a motorcycle, and indoctrinated a mandatory, knife-on-you-person-at-all-times policy for everyone who worked at the raptor enclosure.

"Can I hire my own assistants?" Owen asked, an idea fermenting in his head. "Because I know this guy, Barry, who's great with pack animals…"

* * *

 **Finally done! May I just say that I am so, so, so sorry for that long delay. I already posted an explanation on Outtakes, but I'll do it here too. When I last posted, it was right before AP Testing started, and I was suckerpunched by the studying and panic. A lot of panic. By the time that ended, I was caught up in the end of the school year, and by all of the teacher's that thought, "Hey! Let's end junior year with a bunch of meaningless but time consuming projects!" By the end of the school year, I was out of the practice of writing and this had fallen to the wayside. Then, when I finally started writing again, I had to reread everything else to try to get back in the mindset of the characters, and I am sorry to say that I think I failed. Honestly, I'd like to go on record and say that this is not at all how I envisioned this chapter, and I kind of think that it sucks. Which I am also sorry about, because I wanted to give y'all a good chapter after so long a wait. However, that would now require rewriting this entire thing and making you wait even longer, which I am not willing to do. So, in closing, I am sorry, and can we please forget this chapter ever happened? Because I really think it's terrible. However, on the bright side, I am so pumped for the next chapter. It's half-written in my head, and is already guaranteed to be a million times better than this one. I promise to get it out much sooner than I got this one out. Thank you so much to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed. You all encouraged, and sometimes forced me to write, such as in the case of** NuggetMuncher, **who recently posted the word** "update" **240 times. In all capital letters. Love you all!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello all you beautiful readers! Based on the reviews, I was pretty much alone in the hatred of the last chapter. Maybe I was projecting my disdain for how long it was taking onto the writing itself, or something. Either way, I'm glad you like liked it. Therefore, I shall not be rewriting it. That would just be confusing now that everyone's read it, and I would prefer to move forward in the story. Since you all didn't hate the last chapter, I have no idea if this lives up to the promise of being a million times better, but one can only hope. Thanks to everyone who followed and favorited, with a special shout out to** Dearagon, Archeops567, icanhascamaro, Devil-O-Angel, black dragon, Countdown, Chaotician, AshPhoenix93, topazel, Apache Thubderbird, obsidianstardust, Honor, Pierce, Deadzepplin, LightningScar, Guest, KK, Rin-s666, Blue Lizard, bunny's pumpkin patch **for reviewing! Questions:**

Archeops567: **Yes! That was influenced by Sorkin, both as a nod to the character and because I figured that if they ignored someone once for financial reasons, they would do it again. Sorkin has actually influenced this story quite a bit, as the troodons were her big project. Good eye!**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Fifteen:** Owen Grady: ex-SEAL, All-Around Badass, and Expectant Mother

Throughout the first few weeks that Owen spent on the island, he inadvertently established himself as a badass. He rode his motorcycle across the park, built a wooden extension to his trailer by himself, and was seen sparring with the ACU on a daily basis. In the eyes of his fellow workers, Owen Grady was a man's man, a red-blooded, hard-core male.

Then he got word that the lab had managed to produce a pair of viable eggs, and he managed to destroy said flawless reputation in under three days in favor of the more colorful moniker "Raptor Mom."

Seriously.

Raptor. Mom.

It wasn't even Raptor Dad.

He was _not_ these raptors' mother.

He wasn't.

Though, it chafed to admit it, he could see where the parallels could be drawn. Owen had been, quite normally, anxious when he learnt of the fertilized eggs - shut up, Barry, he was not acting like a woman who just discovered she was pregnant - and had thrown himself into preparations. And while, granted, he could see how camping out in the lab for several hours each day next to the eggs could seem excessive to some, Owen had _reasons._ Much of language development happened prenatally; Owen really needed to start their training _now_ if he was going to use the resonating chamber. Besides, it would be good for them to know his voice.

Barry's gift of a stereo/microphone set that pregnant mothers apparently put on their enlarged bellies so the babies could hear them better was not funny, nor was it appreciated.

( _"But if you put the speakers on the eggs you can -"_ Barry gasped out between cackles.

Owen threw the the microphone at his head.)

He was starting to regret hiring him.

Well, no he wasn't, because Barry was damn good at what he did, and, as an added bonus, was one of the few real friends Owen had in the world, but the mommy jokes were getting old.

Owen could train these raptors. He could care for them, care _about_ them. He could even sit in a lawn chair next to their eggs for hours each day, blowing noises in a resonating chamber or chattering about inane topics or just playing music.

But he could not - _would not -_ be their parent.

* * *

When Owen met Amy, she bit his hand hard enough to bleed.

And, just like that, Owen was in love.

He had just finished working at a zoo with their birds of prey, and had been passing through their animal clinic one last time before leaving. Amy had been there, just a too small, too young primate strapped to a board while she received her shots. Curious, Owen had come over, and the vet tending to her greeted him with a smile before introducing Amy the gorilla.

"Hello, Amy," Owen had drawled.

Seeing that his hand was too close, Amy had craned her neck and snapped down on his skin.

Two and a half weeks later, Owen had received permission to run an intelligence study on her. The gorilla enclosure had been overcrowded anyway, and the zoo had already been looking for someone else to take her; Owen provided the much-needed alternative.

The operation had been small at first, just Owen and Amy and the only grad student that had applied for the internship, a deaf girl from Gallaudet named Darcy. As it gained traction, the program grew, but the original members were always the most invested.

No one had been as invested as Owen, though.

Amy had been _brilliant._ She had been mischievous and kind and she had a vicious sense of humor. She hated to be condescended to, and had an incredibly extensive swear vocabulary for the express reason of insulting any poor fool that tried.

(AMY SWEAR YOU TEACH HER WHY, Darcy had signed, furious, when she found out what Owen had taught her.

Owen was too busy laughing to avoid the angry blows being rained down upon him by the irate intern.)

Amy had acted more human than primate, sometimes. She had loved to go on motorcycle rides with Owen, hooting and hollering all the way with her arms wrapped tightly around Owen, a leather jacket covering her torso and a helmet snug on her head. Owen would take her down to the drive-in, where she would drink orange soda and laugh at all the people who gaped at her. She would draw pictures and play with blocks, and she cried every time she watched _Old Yeller._ And she had been so, so curious about her place in the world.

Once, while they were learning the signs for family, Amy had looked at Darcy and signed, MY DAD WHO.

After a moment, Darcy had signed back OWEN.

The rest of the day, they hadn't been able to get any work out of her. Amy had been too excited, running around and hooting and drawing pictures, before rushing over to Owen to show him her work.

After that, Amy only ever called Owen Dad.

Owen found that he didn't mind in the least.

Then, one day, Amy got sick.

Whenever Owen opened the door to the trailer Amy lived in, Amy greeted him by jumping into his arms, where Owen would swing her around before setting her down. The day Amy got sick she still greeted him, but with much less enthusiasm than she usually did. Concerned, Owen had immediately taken her to the vet.

Just a stomach bug, the man had claimed. She'll sleep it off.

Owen hadn't wanted to leave her, but Amy, the vain little thing, had shoved him out of the trailer, not wanting to be seen when she wasn't at her best, and Owen had a meeting with an investor that night, so he complied. Before he left, Amy and looked up at him and signed AMY LOVE DAD before hobbling back to her nest of blankets.

"I love you too, Amy," Owen had called before he closed the door.

The next day, Amy didn't greet him.

Worried, Owen had slowly trailed back towards her nest, only to find her lifeless body still nestled within, her corpse already cold.

That had been the first and last time that Owen ever did an extended, almost permanent job stint.

That is, until he took the job for Head Raptor Trainer at Jurassic World.

And, as that first egg quivered and shook, it was Amy Owen was thinking of.

Because in his experience, family didn't stick around.

Family loved you. Family fought and sacrificed for you.

And then family died.

Family would be torn to shreds while stuck in a freaking _tree._

Family would survive velociraptors and Spinosaurus', only to be killed by a drunk driver.

Family would follow you through bootcamp and training and a thousand war zones, only to be taken out by a car bomb or a sniper or an IED, while you tried and tried and _couldn't save them._

Family would call you Dad and steal your heart, only to develop rare fatal diseases that were _treatable,_ but only if you caught it in time, which never happened because it had the same symptoms as a _stomach flu._

And while Owen wasn't going to do something stupid like shut out the family he still had, he wasn't about to tempt fate by adding more when he couldn't even hang on to the ones he already possessed.

But then that fragile egg wobbled and cracked, and Owen found all of his fears being instantly silenced. A small grey - silver, really - head peaked out and a golden eye stared at him, and Owen Grady, Navy SEAL veteran, hard-core adventurer, _melted._

What they tell you when learning how to train animals: If you are there when they are born, you will imprint on certain animals.

What they don't tell you: They imprint on you, too.

* * *

"You named the velociraptor _what?"_ Ellie flatly asked.

"Ellie, meet Ellie," Owen smugly stated. Dutifully, the week old Ellie peered up at the computer screen, focusing a large golden eye on the pixilated Ellie Degler. She seemed suspicious for a moment, then chirped happily.

"What on Earth could persuade you to name a _velociraptor_ after _me?"_

"Would you believe me if I told you I vowed to name my firstborn after you when you saved me from Sorna?"

"That is a _velociraptor,_ Owen."

"She has a name, you know," Owen said defensively. "And _feelings."_

"Alan saved you too, even more so than I did, it can be argued. Why didn't you name it after him?"

" _She_ is a lady," Owen responded, running his thumb down Ellie's pebbled skin. Purring, Ellie arched her neck in appreciation. "How many ladies named Alan do you know?"

Human-Ellie sighed in defeat. "Do I at least get a human firstborn too?"

"I'm, uh, not too sure about having any children," Owen admitted. "I don't know how good of an idea it is."

Ellie stared at him. "You love kids, Owen."

"I do."

"Then why would you decide not to have them?"

"Ellie doesn't have feathers," Owen stated absently. "The ones on Sorna had feathers, and so did the pack from before. I wonder what else is different…"

"Don't change the subject, Owen."

"I just… don't know if starting a family is such a good idea for me," Owen defended.

"For the sake of the discussion, I'm going to pretend that you have actually given me a reason why you suddenly don't want children. What if your wife wants kids?"

Owen didn't respond.

" _Owen."_

"I'm not so sure if a spouse is a good idea either," he admitted.

"So you're just going to live the rest of your life alone?"

"I won't be alone!"

"Ellie doesn't count."

Owen fell silent.

"We're not going to ignore this, Owen. What's going on?"

"It's not like I can have much of a relationship; I can't even tell them my old name. Anything meaningful would be built on lies."

"You can't just give up, though," Ellie argued. "Maybe if you got to know the girl-"

"And do what? Wait until our anniversary and say, 'oh, by the way, I've been lying about everything from my name to my hair color, but please don't dump my sorry ass?'"

"It worked for Billy."

"Sabrina _did_ dump his sorry ass. She's just that rare breed that eventually forgives."

"You shouldn't just give up because it's bound to be hard, Owen," Ellie sighed. "You've never done that before; I don't know why you're starting now with something as important as this."

"I should go," Owen evaded. "I need to feed Ellie."

"We're not done talking about this."

"Bye, Ellie," Owen called before quickly signing off.

He wasn't giving up because it was bound to be hard, Owen argued to himself. He was picking and choosing his battles. In all likelihood, any real relationship he had would end in disaster, possibly an international identity reveal and maybe even death. Obviously, the smartest thing to do would be to save both himself and the poor soul that ended up with him from the heartache, pain, and yes, untimely death.

(And, based on his history, untimely death was absolutely, one hundred percent a possibility of being near him. He was not being dramatic.

Shut up, Degler.)

Besides, Owen thought as he watched Ellie clamber over his legs, if he was this attached to the carnivore that would probably grow up and eat him one day, how far gone would he be for his own children?

* * *

Ellie followed Owen around everywhere he went. They spent their days in the Nursery, seeing as she wasn't old enough to leave yet, and as long as she was stuck there, Owen didn't leave either. It was just the two of them, since the other egg had failed to hatch, and Barry, occasionally, but it seemed to Owen that he was company enough for the little raptor, at least for the time being.

At nights, Ellie slept on his chest. She would snap at the fingers of the scientists that prodded at her, and would let out high-pitched squeaks in vague intimations of Owen's guttural, resonating-chamber-enabled growls. She would chirp along to the music Owen played, and watched every person that wasn't Owen with wary golden eyes. She was _brilliant_.

And then, three weeks after she was born, Owen woke up to find a lifeless Ellie still laying on his chest.

"It's not a problem," Dr. Wu claimed, poking at the body with a cold, disinterested look. "The first batch rarely survives; I'm surprised it made it this long. We'll get started on a new formula; you'll have your raptor pack soon."

Owen excused himself before he could punch the emotionless man in the face, then got on his bike and flew across the back roads at full speed until he could breathe again.

* * *

Barry was at his bungalow by the time Owen got back. Of course, it was four in the morning by the time he got back, so it wasn't all that surprising that Barry reached his bungalow before he did. Nor was it surprising that he had actually waited that long, when Owen thought about it. Barry was just that kind of friend; he would wait for days or organize a search party, whichever he thought was needed.

When Owen dismounted, neither of them spoke. Instead, they simply sat on the rickety porch in even more rickety lawn chairs, watching as hints of pink came across the horizon.

Barry offered him a beer. Wordlessly, Owen accepted it, then spat it out in disgust after one sip and exchanged it for a Coke. Alcohol had always tasted wrong to him whenever he was upset. Granted, he was no lightweight, but he had never been able to stomach alcohol when his emotions were running high; he hadn't been able to since his parents died. After they were killed by a drunk driver, Owen had always been careful to never get drunk. Not only was it a bit too close to bad memories, but it wasn't very conducive to having a secret identity. In fact, Owen hadn't been drunk since Billy, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to introduce sixteen year old him to jello shots.

That had been a weird night for everyone.

Still, it was times like these when Owen wished he could indulge a little.

"Ellie was a good kid," Barry said eventually.

Owen hadn't been alone in his love for the raptor. When they finally decided it was safe for Ellie to be exposed to someone other than Owen, Barry had bustled into the Hatching Room, a neon pink "It's a Girl" balloon in one hand and ice chips for the "mother" in the other, which Owen promptly threw at Barry's head. Then, he plopped himself down in front of the now-overwhelmed baby velociraptor and decreed himself to be Uncle Barry, a flash of bright white teeth grinning down at his new niece.

Barry had really, really loved Ellie.

"She was," Owen agreed.

"There will be other raptors."

"There will be."

"They'll probably die too, at least the earliest ones."

Owen took a long, slow swig of Coke, felt the carbonation bubble across his tongue, and wished it was the burn of tequila instead. "They probably will."

"But one's gonna survive, sooner or later. One's gonna live."

"Yeah," Owen agreed, watching as the sun peeked over the horizon. "Yeah, eventually."

Neither of them left until the sun was high in the sky.

* * *

If you worked at Jurassic World, you did not have a regular, boring, nine-to-five job, complete with a commute and a watercooler. Instead, you had the type of job that required you to live in a secluded themepark-island over a hundred miles off the coast of Costa Rica, and, barring any career changes, you would probably have said job until you retired. Jurassic World liked to keep their personnel on the long-term, especially the trainers; the animals were less unsettled if they had familiar faces taking care of them.

And, if you are one of those people who end up living most their life on the island, you're probably going to start a family there, sooner or later. As such, Jurassic World was fully equipped with a daycare center, a shopping center, and a school, made especially for those families with children.

Of course, children adored dinosaurs, especially cute baby dinosaurs that didn't run the risk of eating you. As such, the Nursery was a big favorite of the resident children - the Nursery which they weren't allowed into unless they had an adult present at all times, and only if they stayed at the very edges of the space and didn't get in the way.

The Nursery which Owen spent the majority of his time in, now that he was anticipating the hatching of three new raptor eggs, which just so happened to be kept at the very edge of the space.

Which, _somehow_ , had led him to becoming the unofficial babysitter of the island. It wasn't exactly a hard job - he just had to make sure they didn't touch any of the eggs and that they didn't die or anything, and they usually only stayed for a few hours at a time before someone showed up to take them elsewhere anyways - but it wasn't _his_ job. Personally, Owen blamed the workers at the daycare; the kids wouldn't hate that place so much if they did something other than play _Land Before Time_ on an endless loop. It wasn't that he _minded_ keeping an eye on the kids, it was just that he had work to do, speaking to the eggs and all, and it wasn't like this could be permanent arrangement anyway; Owen would have to move from the Nursery when the eggs hatched, and the kids would have to go back to the daycare center. This was just gearing the midgets up for disappointment, and him up for guilt.

However, no matter how horrible an idea it was, it didn't change the truth of the matter: Owen Grady was a glorified nanny.

"What are you doing?" Ms Dearing asked one day, stunned. She had clicked her way into the Nursery, her frankly ridiculous shoes marking her identity long before he actually saw her. She was glancing around at the five children that had been congregated in the area, then switched her gaze to Owen in a demand for an explanation.

"I… honestly have no idea. Somehow - and I have no idea how it happened, these parents are crafty - I ended up watching one of them. They multiplied after that. Like bacteria."

"You do realize that we have a daycare, right?"

"They hate that place. Apparently it's 'lame,'" he explained, drawing his hands down in quotation marks, "and I, by default, am 'cool.'"

Then, before she could respond, Owen raised his voice, not bothering to turn around to address the deviant. "Invisible fence, Tommy; get back in Munchkin Land. What happens if we leave Munchkin Land, kids?"

"Munchkin Land" was the area of the lab Owen had carved out as the kids. He had demarcated the boundaries with neon green duct tape to serve as an "invisible fence," and had, as the Most Powerful and Awesome Wizard of Awesomeness, forbidden any of the Munchkins to leave Munchkin Land unless he was with them. They were tiny and slippery with grubby, grabby hands, and keeping them away from the newly hatched, defenseless baby dinosaurs and the not-quite hatched, incredibly fragile, incredibly expensive eggs avoided messy lawsuits. Of course, he didn't keep them in Munchkin Land all day - _he_ would have gone crazy sitting in that square all day, let alone the kids. They had field trips to see the Control Room, to visit the baby dinos old enough to have visitors, and whatever else Owem could think of, because, really, he was not qualified for this.

Dutifully, they recited in unison, "We get too close to the breakable eggs and risk wrecking them, which will tick off the Wicked Witch and get all of us sent back to Kansas before we can say 'twister.'"

Owen nodded gravely. "That's right."

Guiltily, little Tommy Harris came slinking back into sight, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Claire did not seem to know where to start.

Eventually, she settled on, "Wicked Witch?"

Owen smirked. "You don't think Wu can pull off the pointy hat?"

Claire looked like she wanted to burn the image from her mind. "What's with the Wizard of Oz references?"

Loudly, the pint-sized Stacy Patterson corrected, "Wizard of _Awesomeness."_

Owen nodded sagely, "Thank you, Stacy."

Stacy beamed.

Claire stared.

Owen shrugged. "Kids love the Wizard of Oz, and they're more likely to obey the rules if they're perceived to be more fun." That, and Owen had been feeling nostalgic for Glinda and Toto and the rest of the lot when he came up with the rule, but Claire didn't need to know that.

Several possibilities seemed to roll through Dearing's eyes, before she groaned and seemed to decide that, likely, she would only get cryptic responses that explained _absolutely nothing_ from Owen Grady, who took great pleasure in confusing many a soul. She was completely accurate in her assumption, of course. "Try not to scar them for life before I figure out what's going on." Then, she clicked her way back from whence she came.

Six pairs of eyeballs followed her path. When the glass doors to the Nursery sealed shut again, Stacy turned back to Owen and asked, "Is she a Wicked Witch too?"

"Nah," Owen decided after a moment's thought. "She's a Good Witch. Like Glinda, only more pragmatic."

Which, of course, led to the inevitable "what does pragmatic mean" questions, and Owen moved past the encounter.

A little over a week later, Owen's career as a babysitter came to an end, mostly. Apparently Claire had marched down to Little Trike's Daycare Center to find out why exactly half the population of the island's children were being watched by the Head Velociraptor Trainer rather than the people getting paid to watch them, and quickly discovered the remaining children literally knocking their heads against the wall from sheer boredom - they were well known to be little drama queens - as Little Foot wandered across the screen in the background, while her employees took the opportunity to update their Facebook status.

They were soon no longer her employees.

Once she had replaced them with someone competent, Owen's inadvertent services were no longer needed. The kids still returned to visit the Most Powerful and Awesome Wizard of Awesomeness, though, and the adorable baby dinosaurs that were probably the real reason they came.

Owen quickly noticed problems with the way they treated said adorable baby dinosaurs, however.

"Whoa, buddy," he cautioned, gently tugging the child's arms from their vice-like grip around an apatosaurus' neck. "You can't just yank their necks like that. It's nice to give them a hug, but they've got a lot longer neck than you; it hurts them if they're jerked around like that."

Horrified by the very idea of hurting the objects of their affection, the visiting midgets quickly stopped throttling the dinos with their love.

Apparently roughhousing with the newly hatched was a common problem amongst children, unfortunately. The keepers at the Gentle Giant Petting Zoo were frequently bemoaning the problem, along with the fact that overly-defensive parents constantly thwarted their attempts to correct the problem.

"It's like they can't accept that there's anything wrong with their behavior, even if it's just a mistake," Linda, one of the keepers, moaned. "It's like, 'I'm sorry, but can't you see the problem with them trying to drag the triceratops by their horns? I'm not "attacking your child," I'm trying to correct their destructive actions so they don't grow up to be unfeeling sociopaths!'" she finished viciously as she knocked back a shot.

"That escalated quickly," Owen observed. Strangely enough, the Gentle Giants Petting Zoo attendants were always the most wild ones on bar nights. Weird, and somewhat worrisome.

"It's how it starts," she declared, waving her arm drunkenly. "Hurting innocent, baby animals is a surefire sign."

Owen heeded her warnings, kind of. While he ignored the "all of these children are future serial killers" comments, he did work on instilling a sense of respect for other species in their developing minds. Slowly but surely, he was corrupting the future generations to his school of thought.

Which, in hindsight, sounded slightly creepy and evil.

But it totally wasn't.

Really.

Owen would, however, like to go on record that storytime wasn't his idea.

It had started, of course, with little Stacy Patterson, who may quite possibly rule the world one day. She had come in with her mother to visit the Nursery, and had found Owen in his usual spot, chirping at the eggs with his resonating chamber and ignoring all the judging looks he was receiving. With a furrowed eyebrow, she had questioned, with all the curiosity of youth, "Why do you talk to the eggs?"

"Well," Owen began, "they start to learn how to speak when they're still in the eggs; it's how some songbirds learn their songs. They can hear us in there, just like human babies can before they're born. It's important for their development to start learning now."

"But you don't always use your blow-y thingy when you talk to them."

"It's important that they know my voice too, Munchkin. It'll help them trust me when they get older."

Then, Stacy had gotten that disturbing gleam in her eyes that made Owen worry about having to call her "Supreme Overlord" one day, and had run off without another word.

She had come back three days later, armed with a well-loved book and followed by the portion of the island's children that she had converted into her faithful minions. The only holdouts were the section that obeyed Adam Johnson, and Owen expected that nation to fall any day now; Adam had lost a game of hopscotch to Stacy, and it had cast doubts on his leadership.

When Owen recalled his pre-Sorna childhood, he didn't remember it being so much like a gang war, but maybe that was just him.

Stacy had plopped the book in his lap and stated, with a tone that brokered no arguments, that the eggs needed to hear his voice more and, therefore, he should read to them. "But it's only fair that we get to listen too," she had added quickly. "It's my book."

The book had been the _Wizard of Oz._

Of course.

Storytime was a half hour each day, three days a week, and was absolutely _sacred_ to the children. They made sure it was during the hours those not employed there were allowed to visit - two PM to five PM, hours generally devoted to paperwork by the Nursery staff - and any and all attempts to end it were dealt with with extreme prejudice. _Wu_ had backed down when he saw the look on Stacy's face, the one time he tried to interrupt. After seeing the stare of pure cunning and determination on the four-foot tall girl, he had backpedaled quickly and stated that, as it was _obviously_ work related, as long as they didn't get in anyone's way he didn't see any harm done, then escaped to his office with as much dignity as one could salvage when they were steamrolled by a little girl that weighed seventy pounds soaking wet.

In all fairness, she was a very intimidating child.

"What," Alec asked one day, the tiny hand of a bouncing blonde toddler held in his own, "are you doing?"

Stacy glared at him. "He's _reading."_ Then, she added on meaningfully, "To the eggs."

"When I was showing my little niece around, I wondered why everyone kept telling me to bring her here," Alec said, a look of comprehension dawning on his face. "Now I understand." Then, he plopped down on the floor, sitting Indian-style behind young Patricia Evans, his niece next to him. "This," he decided, "is awesome."

One little, career-ending bullet to the arm, Owen mused, and he had gone from Navy SEAL to kindergarten teacher. If he had only dodged….

Owen sighed and cleared his throat. "'"You have plenty of courage, I'm sure," answered Oz. "All you need is confidence in yourself. There's no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is facing danger when you are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty."'"

Then, the door swung open once more, and a pale, dark-haired woman stumbled in. She glanced at the group of children, then at Owen, then at Alec, then back at the door, before looking back at Owen. "I'm sorry, I think I'm lost," she explained, a British lit to her voice.

"Where you headed?" Owen questioned.

At the same time, Alec declared, "I'm Alec," while stumbling to his feet. "I don't think I've seen you around here before," he continued shoving out his hand.

Owen risked a glance at him. From the looks of it, Alec was already smitten. A new record, even for him.

"I'm new," she explained. "Zara Young. I'm looking for Claire Dearing's office?"

"Ah," Alec nodded, trying and failing to look cool. "You must be the Ice Queen's new assistant."

"Ice Queen?" Patricia gasped, glaring at Owen as if he had betrayed her. "You said she wasn't a Wicked Witch!"

"And she isn't," Owen insisted, shooting Alec a look. "Ice Queen doesn't mean Wicked Witch."

"Nu _-uh,"_ Patricia insisted. "The one's that have ice powers are always bad, _everyone_ knows that."

The logic of youth. Owen wasn't sure where she was pulling her data from, but he knew that he had no evidence to the contrary to present to her. Alas, Disney - which was a sacred source of information for the island's children - hadn't exploited any ice-powered princess yet, and had made no moves to do so in the future. So, instead, he stated primly, "She's not actually an Ice Queen; it's just an expression."

The kids looked unconvinced. Owen sighed. "Take a left, go straight, take the second left, her office is two doors down on the right."

"Thank you," Zara nodded gratefully. "I'll let you get back to.. whatever this is."

"You know," Alec jumped in desperately, "those directions are a bit complicated, and Dearing hates it if people are late. I could show you, if you want."

"Oh - well, that's okay," Zara denied gently. "I wouldn't want to trouble you."

Sadly, she had underestimated the level of Alec's determination, and the depths of his obliviousness.

"It's no trouble! None whatsoever. Owen, could you watch Thalia for like, two seconds?"

"Well, I'm already watching the rest of the island's children," he sighed. It was, unfortunately, true. Stacy had performed her _coup-d'etat_ of Adam's forces with aplomb, and now even the former leader himself had joined her underlings. She was obviously making plans to incorporate Thalia into her citizens as they spoke, despite the fact that she was only there to visit her uncle. "What's one more?"

Alec was already gone by the time he finished speaking, leaving his unsuspecting niece to her fate. A slightly alarmed Zara Young was at his side, probably already forming plans to let him down easy - or hard, if need be.

Owen sighed, then picked up the book and continued reading.

* * *

Two out of the three eggs hatched two days after they finished the _Wizard of Oz._ Of the two, one only lasted three days. The second held on four days longer than her sister before following her into the light.

Their names had been Elaine and Morgana.

The third never hatched.

* * *

The illustrious title of Day That Shall Never Be Spoken Of had only been bestowed once in Owen's rather eventful life: the day a Tyrannosaurus Rex had… _relieved_ itself on him. Nothing, not one single event, had ever matched that on the scale of mentally and emotionally scarring occurrences.

That is, until he had a date with one Claire Dearing.

One word: _Itinerary._

The date itself had started, surprisingly, with Zara Young. Through some sorcery, Alec had utilized the forty foot walk to Dearing's office to get her number, and then managed to get a date with her in the ten seconds he was bodily blocking the door to the office, a fact that the entire floor was made aware of by his victory cry. In an even greater feat, he managed to transform her burgeoning disinterest in him during their first date to the point where she was just as besotted as he was. She was so lovesick, in fact, that she decided to spread that special brand of happiness further, by setting up a date between her boss and new best friend - a fact that had surprised everyone, since the last few assistants Dearing had fled the premises - and the Head Velociraptor trainer. According to her, the relationship was inevitable, based on their interactions, and she was just ensuring they would stop dragging their feet.

It was not inevitable.

Admittedly, the disaster of the date was partially Owen's fault. Contrary to popular belief, he did not have a vast amount experience in the romance department. While he had still been Eric, any and all relationships came with the foreknowledge that any potential girlfriend could only be interested in his famous name; Kelly had been his only _real_ relationship, and that had been founded on a mutual enjoyment of kicking one another in the head. After he became Owen, there had been girls, just not _many_ girls. He held a mostly migratory lifestyle, which wasn't conducive to any long term entanglements, and he entered into any relationships with the knowledge that he would have to lie about his entire past. Anything serious seemed futile, in light of that. As a consequence, his first dates usually consisted as a casual, get-to-know-one-another kind of thing, rather than anything formal. His and Claire's first - and last - date had been set on one of the few bars on the island not completely inundated with tourists, and, in his defense, board shorts had been entirely appropriate attire for the setting, in his past experiences.

Claire did not agree.

Quickly, what had once been friendly banter had dissolved into sharp insults, and Owen was left sitting at a table, wondering what the Hell had just happened.

He still hadn't figured it out, in fact.

All in all, the date was well deserving of the title Day That Shall Never Be Spoken Of.

After that train wreck, navigating back to "just friends" territory had been impossible. Owen had had disasters of romantic relationships that managed to become really good friendships in the past, but it seemed that was not in the cards for whatever he had with Claire Dearing. Apparently, he had somehow descended into "caveman" levels in her mind, and her complete and utter dismissal of the animals as number on paper, once minor, had magnified to the point of constant irritation.

Owen washed his hands of the matter, and went back to tending to the eggs.

Another two eggs had failed, these ones in the early stages, and Wu had glared at them in a strange kind of muted frustration before reworking the formula. According to him, they felt confident about the next "batch," and they would know if the developing eggs were viable in the next few weeks.

Owen, meanwhile, was busy. Contrary to popular belief, his job consisted of more than speaking to the eggs. He had to rework the entire previous strategy for dealing with velociraptors, especially concerning their holding cells. The Pit, quite frankly, was unacceptable.

Raptors were territorial, and they weren't content unless they had a proportional territory to their pack's strength; it was practically an insult to keep them confined in an area below their abilities. Moreover, the Pit simply wasn't big enough for them to run in. If they kept them pent up without an outlet, it would be a disaster for sure.

As a result, the Pit was being repurposed as a holding pen for animals too big for the Nursery and Gentle Giants, but too small for the Park. Owen was overseeing plans for a new habitat for the future pack.

Which was exactly what he was doing when his phone pinged with an email notification, one which made his blood run cold.

Owen Grady got on his bike, rode back towards the Park, and, still covered in sweat and grime, marched right into Claire Dearing's office, ignoring all attempts to stop him.

"What the Hell do you mean _Isla Sorna?"_ he snarled.

* * *

 **Cliffhanger time! Is this the first time I've ever had a cliffhanger in this fic? I can't remember. I'm sorry that we have yet to see Blue and the rest of the pack yet, but this was the only time I could include Isla Sorna. I couldn't see him leaving them once they hatched, and I feel he needs to go back there for closure or something, or maybe just because I like mentally traumatising fictional characters. Either works. However, I solemnly swear that this sojourn to Sorna is only like, two chapters long, and after that we finally get adorable baby velociraptors. Notes on this chapter:**

 **A lot of Amy's backstory was shamelessly stolen from another of Crichton's books,** _Congo,_ **which I really liked. Read it, if you're interested in the whole 'training apes in ASL thing.' Also, for those of you interested, or just curious about why it was written that way, written American Sign Language (ASL) is called Gloss, and it's always written in all capital letters. Also, language's sentence structure is pretty different from English. The topic goes first, questions are always at the end, ect. I know ASL - I'm not fluent or anything, but I can hold my own in a conversation - and I found myself constitutionally incapable of writing it out in English after my teacher hammered Gloss into me. However, as I just stated, I am not fluent and I apologize for any mistakes I made.**

 **The entire thing with the kids was born from one scene in** _Jurassic World_ **, where a little boy practically broke an apatosaurus' neck trying to hug it. That has always ticked me off. Whenever I see that, I can't help but think, "Kid, that is not your Labrador, that is a freaking** _ **dinosaur**_ **,** **respect it.** **" I wanted** _ **someone**_ **to fix it, and since Grant isn't quite mentally or emotionally stable enough when it comes to Isla Nublar - a completely understable thing, given his circumstances - and I wasn't about to shove** _ **the**_ **Alan Grant in Gentle Giants Petting Zoo, I pushed Owen into the role. Both of them keep talking about respect, so I feel they could both fulfill the part.**

 **Also, bonus points if anyone can figure out who Alec is in the movie. He's only mentioned once, but he's still there.**

 **Lastly, the whole "Ice Queen" thing is a reference to the endless movie known as** _Frozen_ **, which does not exist at this point of the plot.** _Frozen_ **came out in 2013,** _Jurassic World_ **came out in 2015, and this takes place years before the movie. Therefore, Owen does not know the musical Hell he has inadvertently brought on himself by thinking the thoughts. I don't mean to hate on Disney, but if I hear** _Let it Go_ **one more time, someone's gonna bleed.**

 **Dang it, you all are going to comment** _Let it Go_ **now, aren't you? Why am I giving y'all suggestions? Why have I opened Pandora's Box?**

 **You people have driven me crazier.**

 **Lastly, naming one of the raptors Morgana was a shoutout to Katie McGrath, the actress who plays Zara Young, who also played Morgana Le Fey in the** _BBC_ **show** _Merlin._ **She was fantastic in that role.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Dear** Apache Thunderbird, **I shall never "let it go," (and gosh darn all of you who commented that). Even if my dastardly plots are foreseen, they are still effective. For those of you who did not hear the line (it was very hard to hear, I only noticed it when I rewatched the movie with subtitles), when Zach and Grey are ditching Zara at the Gentle Giants, the camera pans back to her on the phone and she says, "No, Alec's not having a bachelor party. Because all his friends are animals." Alec is Zara's future fiancée, and his animalistic friends are Owen Grady, the rest of the ACU, and likely actual animals. I figured it'd be hard for her to have a relationship with someone not living in the island as well, let alone one that led to marriage, and thus, Alec Greenway, ex-SEAL and motormouth, was born. Thanks to everyone that followed and favorited, and shoutout to** child of Jon snow **,** Archeops567, Guest, KK, Pierce, Lightningscar, Apache Thunderbird, leggomygreggo2, Braeden1002, Kurohi Rokujou, Blackquantum, Just Let it go, KirjavaDragon, The Shadow Spectre, Sammy, Sam, Mistletainn **for reviewing!**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Sixteen:** In Which Owen Kind-Of Goes on a Business Trip, One Which He Can Never, Ever Tell His Family About

Owen had to hand it to her, Claire really knew how to be cool under fire. Of course, that begrudging respect was quickly washed away by the screaming wave of _what the Hell is she thinking,_ and Owen refocused on the massive, PTSD-inducing crisis at hand, which, granted, Claire probably didn't know she was causing. However, that didn't change the fact that she _was_ causing it, or the tiny detail that Owen had checked to make sure it wouldn't be a problem before ever setting foot on the island.

Because there was no way in Hell he was setting foot on Isla Sorna again, no matter what the Ice Queen said.

Occasionally, certain trainers received permission to study the wild counterpart to their animals, for research purposes. It was supposed to help them better understand and anticipate behavior. Certain animals, however, were never, ever allowed to be studied on Sorna, for the simple reason that they were simply too dangerous to get near without dying - like the velociraptor. It was one of the reasons Eric Kirby's account of their behaviour in the wild was still considered to be the leading study; he was the only one crazy enough to get close to the predators.

Therefore, as Head _Velociraptor_ Trainer, Owen should have never, ever received the orders to accompany the next research group to Isla Sorna.

Claire raised her eyebrow. "I thought it was fairly obvious."

"I am the _velociraptor_ trainer; velociraptors aren't approved for study in a non-secured environment."

"And if you had bothered to fully read the email before barging in here, you would know that we aren't asking you to study raptors; we just need you to run security for the next trip."

"You have people for that."

"Yes, and two of them have pneumonia, one of them is on paternity leave, and one broke his leg cliff-diving. We have already sunk too much resources into this next expedition to postpone it; we simply need to replacements. Your record in the service seems to make some think that you are a perfect candidate," she explained icily.

Based on her tone, Owen could guess that she the only thing she thought he was qualified for was shoveling dino crap. Still, he imagined the vicious side of her was rather pleased he was reacting in such a frantic manner; she probably thought it justified all her opinions of him.

Owen couldn't bring himself to care, not when it was _there_ that he was being asked to return to.

And he couldn't, _wouldn't_ go back.

Granted, he had had some nostalgia - for lack of a better term - for the island, but he had had even more nightmares. Owen _still_ had nightmares - terrible, vivid things filled with teeth and blood and _Please, God, let me live._ Sometimes, when he awoke gasping, tangled in sweaty sheets and strands of memories, he wondered if he ever truly got off. He wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was still there, and this was all just the desperate, crazed illusion of a boy who had been forgotten to rot in Hell on Earth.

Going back could only end in disaster.

"I already have a job; this was not in the contract."

Claire didn't even bother concealing her disgust, rolling her eyes in distaste as she shuffled paperwork. "I'm certain we can find someone to read the raptor eggs _Goodnight Moon_ while you're gone."

"I have more responsibilities than that, and I can't just drop them!"

Dearing offered him a tight smile. "You are, of course, allowed to refuse to accompany the expedition; legally, we can't make you go."

Owen kept in the sigh of relief, barely. "Well, I refuse."

She nodded curtly. "I'll arrange for your replacement. You remember where the door is, I presume?"

Owen had his hand on the doorknob when she spoke again. "Oh, but you'll have to do without Mr. Dumont for the next week or so."

Owen's blood froze. Slowly, he took his hand off the door. "Is Barry going somewhere?"

"He's already agreed to act as one of the security providers on the forthcoming Sorna trip. It was in the email you didn't bother to read. Mr. Dumont was rather excited at the opportunity, in fact."

Oh yeah, people were always excited when they heard they would be going to Isla Sorna. Such a rare opportunity, and in such a groundbreaking place! They would be seeing real life dinosaurs in the wild; what could be better? And, of course, the trip would be totally safe; there were security specialists there. Their tiny bullets could _easily_ stop the rampaging Tyrannosaurus.

Owen knew better - _Eric_ knew better. It wasn't some _Land Before Time_ rerun; it wasn't your average nature preserve. People went there, and people died.

Usually, there wasn't even enough left to ship home in a body bag.

Family didn't leave family to die on dinosaur islands, and the same went for friends. And Owen had precious few true friends left; he couldn't loose Barry. Not to _there._

Owen sighed and turned around.

He could never, _ever_ tell his family about this.

* * *

Owen had checked the supplies over a dozen times, and he still felt like he was forgetting something.

A backpack full of smoke grenades. Check.

A full med kit for everyone in the party, complete with antidotes for the various venoms found on the island, from compys to troodons. Check.

Flares. Check.

Duct tape. Lots and lots of duct tape. Check.

One raptor claw. Check.

A journal, a map, and a worn picture of a packed hospital room. Check.

A lifetime of repressed issues and a healthy dose of PTSD.

Check.

Luckily, where they were going already had most of the supplies; they did _not_ want to be lugging a week's worth of provisions and gear through Sorna. Through some miracle, Masrani had managed to build a concrete bunker in interior of the island, approximately four point seven miles from the drop off zone, in an clearing big enough for a helicopter to land in the case of emergencies.

(Since the island had become open to select parties, the helicopter had been needed on six separate occasions. People kept coming.)

All Owen had to do was supervise the scientists around the island, babysit them for a week, make sure no one took any dinosaurs off the island, and bring them back to the ferry. Oh, and keep anyone from dying.

Simple.

"You alright, man?" Alec hummed. As a former SEAL, Greenway had been a prime candidate for the journey. He had considered Masrani's offer for working the trip, and eventually accepted it. ("I didn't really want to go," he later confessed to Owen. "I see plenty of dinosaurs at my normal job, and I didn't see much interest into going to an exotic death trap; that's more the hard-core dino lover's rodeo. But the hazard pay was too good. My sister's got two kids and a deadbeat husband. They just found a tumor the size of a baseball on my little nephew's leg. Every penny helps.") The typically scarily-put-together Zara Young had seen him off, knots in her hair and bags under her eyes.

(When Zara saw him leave, she didn't cry. She didn't guilt trip him, didn't cling, didn't make the goodbye any harder than it had to be. Instead, she very, very quickly asked him to come home, and left before he could answer.)

"Peachy," Owen muttered, glancing over the supplies again.

Alec nodded, and didn't say anything else. He had seen war; he knew the difference proper tools could make.

Owen was grateful for this.

"Owen!" Barry called. "ETA ten minutes."

Quickly, he swallowed his nervousness and nodded. "Get everyone together, Barry."

The scientist were milling around the center of the ship, absently checking their equipment as they chatted to one another. Gluing on a blank, efficient mask, Owen walked to the front of them and called for attention. "Alright, everybody listen up! We will be landing in ten minutes, so let's go over the safety procedures one more time."

In unison, the assembly of scientists groaned, as if they were teenagers who just found out they would be getting homework. Owen ignored them; he didn't care if they thought going over the protocols ten times was excessive; he'd go over them a hundred times if it meant getting everyone off of that damned island safely. By the time he was done with them, they'd be able to recite them in their sleep, if he had his way.

"The bunker is approximately four point seven miles from the drop-off. When we land, we go directly there. No gaping at the scenery, no stopping to observe _anything;_ we just head to the bunker and set up camp. Then, and only then, will we go out. When we are around the island, no one is alone. You will be with a member of the security teams _at all times;_ I don't care if you're heading ten feet into the treeline to take a piss; there will be a member of the team going with you. That ten feet may not seem like much, but it can mean the difference between life and death here." Ten feet had been the difference between Eric's - Owen's, damnit, he was _Owen_ now - life and Ben's death. Ten stupid feet into the treeline, and Ben had been alone when the raptors came. Ben had been alone, and he had died alone, leaving Er - Owen alone in that stupid jungle.

(Most of the time, Owen thought he had been lucky, being the one not caught in that tree.

Sometimes, he didn't.)

"Keep your supply packs with you at all times. Having water, or a smoke grenade, or a first aid kit, or even just a whistle may save your life here. At night, _everyone_ will be inside the bunker, no exceptions. The closest we will be getting to observing behavior after dark is through cameras equipped with night vision."

As he continued going over the list of protocols of what they should do if they do get separated from the group - which shouldn't happen, but could - or if they get stuck outside at night - which shouldn't happen, but could - and what to do in the thousand other scenarios that shouldn't happen, but could, Owen memorized the faces of the scientists under his authority.

He memorized every face, every expression, every name.

When he had still been Eric, he had left behind four men on that island: Ben, Udesky, Cooper, and Nash.

Eric had been a scared twelve year old boy with no training, no experience, and no chance. But now he was Owen, a SEAL, and SEALs didn't leave people behind.

Now, Owen vowed, no one would be left behind. Not this time. Not again.

When they reached the shore, Owen Grady was the first person to step off the boat.

Eric Kirby was the first person to step on Isla Sorna.

* * *

There were twelve scientists under his charge, and Eri - Owen liked most of them.

Most of them being the key phrase.

There was Dr. Helen Cho, who specialized in paleobotany and told horrible, cheesy knock-knock jokes. There was Dr. John Holmes, who had done three tours in Afghanistan and adored triceratops even more than Dr. Grant had. There was Mr. Conrad Adams, who wasn't a PhD yet but had already accomplished such ground breaking work in genetic engineering that he had been invited to study the long term effects on subjects that had lived without the influence of a lab for a long period of time.

There was Dr. Richard Levine, who had all of the intelligence and arrogance of Ian Malcolm but none of the survival instinct, and who believed he didn't have to listen to anyone who didn't have at least two PhDs.

He was also the reason Owen liked _most_ of the scientists under his care.

The man would have either gotten along really well with Malcolm or not at all, Owen mused. It was possible he would have gotten along really well _and_ not at all with him. Owen could easily imagine the two of them spending hours together talking, until they hit something they disagreed upon, at which point both men would dig in their heels like stubborn Golden Retrievers before debating the topic at length, until their argument grew so heated they would be banned from whatever poor establishment they were frequenting at the moment.

Despite the man's arrogance, Owen felt he could have gotten along with him easily enough - no one was all bad, and Owen had dealt with his fair share of prickly personalities in his time - if it weren't for the man's recklessness. It wasn't just that he didn't have Malcolm's instincts; it was that he didn't have a _brain damaged mosquito's_ instincts.

Actually, that was an insult to the mosquitos. They at least knew when to fly away when the hand was about to swat them. Levine just ran towards the dinosaur trying to kill him, cooing about how fascinating the bone structure was, and _wasn't that domed head amazing,_ and _of course it's not trying to kill me, Grady, it's just an intimidation technique, animals bluff at charges all the time and you have to stand your ground when they do, you'd know this if you'd gotten your PhD instead of hanging around in a desert shooting things._

Owen was starting to understand what those mothers with the children that toddled out into heavy traffic whenever their backs were turned felt. It was as if someone had melded the minds of John Hammond and a impulsive four year old before shoving it in an adult body and giving said body access to the deadliest place on the planet. He was going to be completely grey by the end of the week.

Owen was probably being too harsh on the man, but he felt it was justified, them being where they were. If he didn't stop ignoring everything Owen said on the sole basis of his degree, they were going to have a serious problem.

For the tenth time that day alone, Owen rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he called across the clearing casually.

For the tenth time that day alone, Dr. Levine ignored him. Granted, the first nine times hadn't had very serious consequences, but he had still been right. Of course, the fact that Owen had been right had grated on the man's pride, making it all the more likely that he would have ignored the warning.

Owen absolutely did not ignore this fact when calculating the amount of urgency in his tone.

Maybe he did.

A little.

In his defense, he had been under a lot of stress lately, what with the whole 'returning to the place that caused every unwanted but totally needed therapy session of his childhood' thing. It had to have affected him somehow.

Dr. Levine continued edging along the undergrowth, categorizing something Owen probably would have been interested in if they weren't on _Isla freaking Sorna._

Calmly, Owen picked up a rock.

Several things happened in quick succession.

First, Levine stepped, closer to the treeline, trailing even farther from the group.

Next, a dilophosaurus suddenly emerged from its hiding place in the undergrowth, its neck frill already flared, apparently deeming that the scientist had strayed far enough from the herd to be easy prey.

Then, Owen snapped the rock cleanly across the clearing, easily cracking the dilophosaurus in the side of the head.

Quickly, the carnivore fell to the side and scuttled away, shrieking in pain as it went.

Richard Levine turned around and stared at Owen.

Owen smiled innocently back.

* * *

Most of the time, Owen was able to handle the island with very little trouble. Well, that wasn't exactly accurate: Everyone had trouble with the island, Owen included, and just because he had lived there once it didn't mean that it was a walk in the park. The place was deadly, disastrous, and dangerous, and if you let down your guard for so much as a second, you would be dead. It would be more accurate to say that he had very little trouble with his past as Eric, and hiding it from the rest of the crew. The island had changed greatly in the years he had been away; territory lines shifted, the leadership of packs changed, and whole new generations of dinosaurs roamed the island. For every little thing he remembered about the place, there were a hundred big things he didn't know yet. All in all, Owen thought he did pretty well at pretending it had been his first time setting foot on the damned place.

Except.

Sometimes, just sometimes, he would stumble on things that he remembered. And they weren't small, inconsequential memories like, _this is where I met Toto for the first time,_ or _this clearing was an especially safe place to rest_ \- though he saw those places too. No, the areas that really caused him trouble were the ones that meant things.

There is a clearing in the jungle surrounded by tall, convenient trees, and brush that can easily conceal a young boy and a middle aged man from view. When the others see it, they see a good place to rest for a few minutes.

When Owen sees it, he sees a man lying face down in the dirt, blood on his back and his neck at a _wrongwrongwrong_ angle, and, though he had never met the man before, not even seen him, he knows he is dead because of him. And suddenly, his heart is in his throat and his stomach is in his feet, and Owen finds himself insisting that the clearing is too exposed and difficult to secure, and they end up walking for another forty-seven minutes before they find another.

There is a large tree overlooking an even larger valley, with branches too high for any human to climb. There is a smaller tree next to it, with branches close to the ground, and when Owen looks at it, he sees a scrawny little twelve year old leaping and falling recklessly through the leaves. He smiles for the first time since they landed on Sorna.

Or:

There is a clearing with a towering, Gothic fence cutting unnaturally through the landscape. On the left side of the fence, there is the treeline. On the right side of the fence, there is a small, reenforced building overlooking a cliff. The fence itself is broken, the large, jagged hole warning of a dangerous colossus lurking nearby. When the others see it, they see the hole and become afraid, because none of their weapons are equipped to handle something of such a large size. A part of Owen wants to tell them not to worry; somewhere there is a river with a tall, rusted crane and a hollow skeleton that means another hole will never be created.

A bigger part of him can't stop staring at the fence.

There is a clearing with a towering, Gothic fence cutting unnaturally through the landscape. On the right side of the fence, there is a boy, who has traveled through the Inferno right alongside Dante and Virgil and can't seem to find his way out again. There is blood in his hair and tears in his clothes, and he has a haggard, traumatized look in his eyes that will never truly go away. On the left side of the fence, there is a man and a woman, both following the screams of a boy that should be dead, and they have a relieved, grateful look in their eyes that will never truly go away. The boy that should be dead runs to the man and woman with relief in their eyes, and the man and the woman run to him. They meet at the fence, the metal not yet broken and warped, and they hug despite the bars separating them.

Owen turns away from the fence.

He pastes on a blank, empty mask and does not respond to his coworkers' questioning looks.

He barely speaks for the rest of the day.

And, that night, when everyone else is asleep, Owen Grady (not Eric Kirby, he can't _be_ Eric Kirby anymore, damn it, _he needs to be Owen Grady)_ lays stock-still in his sleeping bag and _hates hates hates_ himself for being so jealous of that haggard, traumatized little boy. He hates himself for wanting to go back, to switch places with that younger him still trapped in Hell, to be Eric Kirby for just a little bit longer and do things right so that he never has to give it up in the first place.

To make sure that those stupid, relieved, grateful eyes never have to close prematurely.

Eric cries himself to sleep for the first time since his parents died.

* * *

The island had changed quite a bit since Eric had been on it.

Owen, that is. The island had changed quite a bit since _Owen_ had been on it.

Damn it.

The landmarks hadn't changed, but what they demarcated had. The carnotaurus had expanded their territory; the dilophosaurus had lost some of theirs. The Rexes hadn't had a new child, but they still roamed together, and in new places, too. There wasn't another Spinosaurus roaming around, thank God, and the apatosaurus had begun to venture outside of the valley, occasionally.

Some things had remained the same.

The procompsognathus still were annoying, deadly little buggers that popped up when you least expected it. The ceratosaurus still hung by the river. Pachys still crashed into everything that moved.

Owen didn't dare look for the velociraptors.

It was a bit surreal, to be honest. Walking around the island over a decade after having left there was a bit like visiting your old high school long after you've become an adult: They halls are the same and the building still stands, but your teachers have left only to be replaced by new ones and your accomplishments, once displayed proudly on walls and in trophy cases, have been moved away to make room for a new generation of accomplishments and trophies.

When he had left, Eric had had a fine-tuned awareness of the island's every sound. Every rustle of leaves, every primitive screech, every movement had been instantly recognized for what they were. Now, while he still had a far above average radar, he didn't have the same easy familiarity. Some sounds he scrambled to recognize; some dinosaurs he needed a moment to place. Some things were so wholly unfamiliar that Owen realized they hadn't been there when he was twelve.

It was as if he was relearning everything he had once known about the island.

So, really, it wasn't very surprising that he would fall into old habits.

The raptor claw still traveled with him everywhere he went, its sides rubbed smooth but its tip still as sharp as the day he received it. In his pocket, Owen carried a new ziplock baggie, with an old, worn journal slipped inside. Tucked within the front cover was a yellowed, folded map written with a childish hand.

Sometimes, when no one was watching, Owen would slip out the ziplock, take out the journal, and become Eric Kirby for just a few seconds more.

Lines on the map were erased and redrawn as he learned of the new territory boundaries. New passages were scrawled in an old journal. Inexperienced doodles were replaced by a more developed image of the dinosaurs.

"Owen?"

Eric's head snapped up. "Yeah?"

Barry frowned at him in concern. "You okay?"

Frankly, Eric wasn't very surprised that Barry would be concerned about him. He had been acting different since he said yes to the trip, and it hadn't escaped the man. Eric would have to be more careful around him.

The journal snapped shut. Owen smiled wanly at his friend. "I'm fine, Barry."

And as he walked away, Owen didn't notice the way Barry's eyes followed him with a mix of worry and suspicion.

* * *

It was inevitable that Eric Kirby would have come up in conversation. After all, they were on Isla Sorna, and the Kirby Incident had been the most widely documented accident in the history of the island. Sooner or later, someone would have brought it up.

So it really shouldn't have thrown Owen for a loop the way it had.

Nights in the bunker were a bit like a Boy Scouts' camp-out, or a sleepover amongst immature teenagers: There was a lot of gossip, a lot of bad jokes, and the occasional thrown pillow. There had even been truth or dare once.

Everyone had been sworn to secrecy about that night.

Then, one night, Cho asked no one in particular, "How do you think Eric Kirby survived here?"

Owen stopped breathing. Then, very, very slowly, he started again.

"We already know how Kirby survived," Adams reminded her. "He released his journal about the island."

"Yeah, but that didn't _really_ tell us anything," Helen pressed. "Everyone knows that he didn't release the entire thing, and what he did was mostly notes about the dinosaurs' behavior. We've got an entire team of security specialists here, and sometimes even I don't think we'll make it off alive. He was a twelve year old kid, by himself. How did he do it?"

"If you believe some conspiracy theorists, he didn't," one of the men on the security team, Evans, chimed in. "They think the entire thing was a scam by InGen to gain publicity."

"Are these the same people that think the moon landing was faked and that the earth is flat?" Helen questioned, disgusted. "It makes no sense. Why would InGen want that kind of publicity? It was terrible!"

"All publicity is good publicity," Evans reminded her.

"Tell that to the old InGen Board of Directors after the Kirby Incident tanked their stock and made everyone think they hated children," she shot back. "They had to sell to Masrani."

"Was that such a bad thing? Jurassic Park was already a black hole for funds after the San Diego Incident. They really made off better than they were before, bailing out."

"There's nothing to substantiate this theory," Helen insisted. "That's all just speculation. But I remember watching the news the day the troops were sent into Sorna; I saw that kid step off the chopper. He looked like he had just been through a war zone."

"But what proof do we have that he was ever really here? Sure, he managed to describe the island pretty well, but he's all buddy-buddy with Malcolm; he could have just gotten the information from him. No one's been able to find the water truck he claimed to have camped in for eight weeks. How do we know it even exists?"

"Kirby said he camouflaged it," Levine, of all people, inserted. "It's entirely plausible that it's just blending into the vegetation."

"Okay, but what about the other holes in his story? Raptor packs, T-Rex pee, how is any of that even possible? His explanation about the packs was subpar at best, and all he ever said about the pee was 'You don't want to know.' Sounds fishy to me. Why wouldn't he provide even the smallest explanation?"

Owen smirked.

"We shouldn't be talking about this," Barry admonished. "It's not right."

"It's not right?" Holmes snorted. "Why isn't it right? The entire debacle was plastered across the front pages for months; everyone talks about it. Why shouldn't we?"

Barry sat up, fixing a piercing gaze onto the man. "Because we don't know what really happened. We don't know anything about what that boy had to face on this island. We don't have the right to pass judgement on something we can't begin to understand."

 _Thank you, Barry._

Subtly admonished, John flushed before sinking back down into his sleeping bag.

There was a lull in conversation, before Adams spoke up. "But what do you think happened to him? Where do you think he disappeared to?"

Barry sighed. "What did I just say?"

"I'm just curious!" Adams defended. "I'm not passing judgement on anything! Besides, it's not like Kirby is ever going to find out we were talking about him."

 _If they only knew…_

"Well, I don't know where he went, and I'm not going to guess," Barry stated shortly.

"Why do you think he made himself disappear?" another person asked.

"Some people don't believe that he did," another person chimed in. "There are some people that think he died in the car crash with his parents or committed suicide after their deaths, and the rest of the island survivors covered it up."

As they continued debating the possible reasons for wiping your existence off the face of the planet, Owen listened with a detached air. Some of the ideas were absurd, some close to reality but not quite, but none of them quite hit the issue on the head.

Then, Owen surprised himself by joining in on the speculating. "Maybe he wanted something that he couldn't have as Eric Kirby."

"Like what?"

"Like a life."

Helen glanced over at him with interest. "What do you mean?"

"Kirby had fame and riches as himself," Evans pointed out. "Why would he give that up?"

Owen stared at the ceiling. "Because if he didn't, he'd have to be Eric Kirby for the rest of his life." A pause. "He'd never get away from Isla Sorna. For as long as he lived, if he did anything, it'd be as Eric Kirby, Isla Sorna Survivor. He'd be forever defined by the worst eight weeks of his life. Sounds like a pretty empty existence to me. If he was someone else, he wouldn't have to deal with that. Or something like that, I dunno."

"Do you think he got what he wanted?" Alec asked with interest.

Owen swallowed. "Yeah, I think he did. I think he found exactly what he wanted to."

* * *

Two days left. Just two more days.

The trip had passed with relatively little incidents, thank God. There had only been three compy attacks, two attempts by the dilophosaurus, and one incident when a Rex passed by their party and everyone actually stayed completely still. No one was dead. They had minimal injuries. Everyone still possessed all the body parts they had when they stepped on the island. They hadn't even _seen_ any velociraptors. Which, by Isla Sorna standards, was a honest-to-God _miracle._

Of course, this fact only made Owen even more nervous.

Owen had terrible, God-awful luck that usually struck whenever there was a dinosaur involved. There was not a chance on God's green earth that he would go to the most uncontrolled, dangerous, dinosaur-infested place on the planet without a single incident. The closer he got to the end of the trip, the more paranoid Owen became.

So, when Greenway and Horowitz were about to head out to change the batteries in the night vision cameras, a duty they had performed with very little incident multiple times already, Owen volunteered to go in their stead.

Honestly, Owen wasn't entirely sure why he did it. There hadn't been any problems in the past, and there weren't any indications that there would be any problems on this occasion. But his skin was crawling and his heart was racing, and Owen had decided to listen to his gut.

"You sure, man?" Alec looked at him, puzzled. "We can do it, easy."

Owen shook off his concerns. "I need to stretch my legs anyway. Be back in a few."

"Owen!" Barry called after him. "I'm coming with you."

Owen hesitated.

"No one goes anywhere alone, remember?" Barry pressed. "One of _your_ safety protocols."

For a moment, Owen considered playing the hypocrite and sending him back, but acquiesced; he didn't have any real reason to send Barry away.

The pair managed change the first three batteries easily, and reached the fourth with very little trouble. Owen had propped his gun briefly against the tree, rummaging through his bag for the spare power pack, when his nostrils flared.

In his time on Isla Sorna, Eric had learned many new skills. Some had faded, but others were still there, seared into his brain by adrenaline and fear.

Like the signs of a velociraptor hunting nearby.

The wind had shifted in just one moment, making it so Owen and Barry they were downwind instead of up. That one moment provided the information needed to save both of their lives: The breeze lifted with it the bloody, ugly scent of rotting meat.

Owen had never forgotten that scent, nor what it had signified.

" _Back!"_ he shouted, grabbing Barry by the back of his shirt and bodily dragging him out of the way.

A split second later, a raptor rushed out from the undergrowth, it's jaws snapping where Barry had once been.

It took less than a second for Owen to figure out what had happened.

The velociraptors had set a trap.

Territory lines had shifted since Owen had left; the raptors had expanded their turf. Greenway and Horowitz had been lucky the last couple times they had been here; there hadn't been a raptor nearby to see them. But if one of the carnivore's stumbled across their lingering scent during a patrol, they would know someone had been there, and know where to set the trap.

Three more raptors shot out from their hiding places, confirming Owen's theory. They were surrounded.

Well, crap.

His gun was still propped against the tree, and Owen didn't even pretend to think that he could make it there before a raptor ripped out his throat.

But Barry still had his gun.

Swearing, the man raised his gun and took aim. Owen followed the path of the barrel and saw -

Rose.

"Don't shoot!"

She was even more beautiful than Owen remembered: Elegant bone structure, gorgeous red streaks, and piercing eyes.

She was also even more terrifying than Owen remembered: Scars from years of fighting, wickedly sharp claws, and blood still gleaming on her teeth.

Barry snapped him a look.

"That's the Alpha; if you kill her, the rest of them tear us to pieces."

Really, if you killed any of them, they'd tear them to pieces. Or if you did anything, they would. Or if you didn't do anything, they would.

Basically, there was a very high chance they would be torn to pieces in the next few moments.

Still, Owen couldn't pretend that the fear of a bloody death had been the thing driving his warning; he had seen Rose again, a prominent figure in both his best dreams and greatest nightmares, and he couldn't let her die.

There was probably some kind of psychological disorder tied into all that. Could a velociraptor give you Stockholm Syndrome? It's probably one of those problems that the psychiatrists tried to fix all those years while Eric was jumping out of windows avoiding them.

One of the raptors - one Owen didn't recognize - snapped closer.

Fumbling, Owen yanked out his resonating chamber and blew the first sound that came to mind.

 _Stop!_

The raptors stuttered to a halt. Owen spared a brief moment to be thankful he had blown out that command instead of a mating call or something.

"Barry," Owen breathed. "Smoke grenades. Slowly."

Of course, if the raptors saw Barry reach for _anything,_ they would lunge. However, Owen made an excellent distraction.

Quickly, the velociraptors were getting over the shock at being spoken to by a human; their looks shifted into calculating.

Rose sniffed delicately once, twice, three times.

She couldn't remember him, could she?

The echoing trill of Owen's raptor-name left her lips.

Apparently, she could.

This wasn't all that surprising when Owen thought about it. No one knew much about the raptors, not really, other than that they were deadly and intelligent. No one even knew how long their lifespan was, which was one of the reasons Owen had been so shocked to see her at all, let alone in good health. The fact that she could remember little Eric Kirby was surprising, but not impossible. It was a well known fact that raptors had an impressive sense of smell, and while Owen's scent would have changed slightly over the years, at the core, it would be the same.

Another raptor to the left repeated the trill.

Nemsis.

Then, to Owen's surprise, the two younger, unknown raptors perked noticeably before repeating the sound as well, glancing at Owen with interest.

What the Hell?

If he had become some kind of campfire story for velociraptors, he was done, Owen decided. He was so, so done. He would quit his job, leave dinosaurs behind forever, and live in a cave somewhere far, far away from this insane world. Because, really, he had put up with way too much shit in his time to deal with becoming the human equivalent of Bigfoot for dinosaurs. Owen had a line, and it was there.

He probably should have drawn a line way sooner than now, but Owen had never claimed to be particularly well-adjusted.

Barry hissed. Right, velociraptors.

Rose had taken a step closer, her claws gleaming in the dying light and a familiar look in her eyes.

She wanted to play a game.

 _Hurry up, Barry,_ Owen thought.

"Hello, Rose," he greeted, slowly raising his hand to ward her off. His head snapped to the side. "Back off, Nemesis, I mean it," he warned.

Barry let the smoke grenades fly.

Quickly, Owen shoved his shirt over his mouth, grabbed Barry's arm, and ran.

The raptors followed.

The path would have been almost nostalgic, if they hadn't been running for their lives. (Well, it was kind of nostalgic despite the fact that they were running for their lives, and also kind of because of that fact, but Owen knew that if he ever told anyone that they would send him back to therapy forever, and he wasn't mature enough yet to not jump out of the window the first chance he got.)

When the raptors came after them, Owen knew exactly where to run. The trail was as familiar as the back of his hand, and it was almost instinctual to run through the forest, across the stream, and into the deserted labs, dragging Barry behind him.

It was in the labs that he realized that they wouldn't be able to outrun the pack.

Really, outrunning them had never been an option, not when he was a kid, not now. The raptors were too fast; they would catch them, every time.

When Owen had been Eric, he had escaped through outsmarting the predators.

(He was still Eric.)

Skittering to a stop, Eric scanned his surroundings, searching for something to slow the predators.

He had an idea.

Barry stopped with him, glaring. _"Mère de Dieu!_ What are you doing? Keep running!"

"We're not going to make it!" Owen shouted back, sprinting to the tall, glass observation tanks lined up against the walls. He could already hear the raptors inside the building. "Help me with this!"

The tanks hadn't been nailed down; the sheer weight of them made that superfluous. Moreover, it allowed them to be moved if necessary.

This was absolutely necessary.

Quickly, Owen began to shove at the object with all his strength, and after a moment, Barry joined him.

What happened next can only be described as a domino effect.

The large, glass projectile knocked into the one next to each, which knocked into the one next to that one, and so on and so forth, until the floor behind them was covered in shattered glass, spilt fluid, biological material, and numerous other obstacles.

The raptors skittered into the room.

They couldn't move through the area; it was too cluttered for that. They would have to exit and go around the building, which would take many more precious minutes.

Eric couldn't help but think that Rose looked pleased.

Then, he turned around, grabbed Barry's arm once more, and ran. Every extra second counted on this island; they weren't safe yet.

The pair exploded out of the back doors, sprinted across the field, and into the treeline.

"This way!" Owen called, jerking Barry to the left.

Barry glanced in the direction his friend was leading him. It was a tangled, difficult path, overgrown and rocky. The right appeared to be much safer.

The right also led directly to a cliff, but Barry didn't know that.

"Are you crazy?!"

" _Trust me!"_

And, swearing as he went, Barry did.

Eric ran directly to an all-too-familiar hill, sprinted down, and ripped up the undergrowth to reveal a gleam of rusted silver. The door to his water truck opened with a reluctant _screech._

Barry gaped at him. Eric grabbed his friend and bodily threw him in before jumping down after him.

The door sealed shut behind them, trapping them in darkness. Moving with the experience of someone repeating the same action for the thousandth time, Owen reached to grab the lanterns from where he had left them, flicking one on and bathing the interior with light. This would be fine. It was too close to darkness to go back, but they could wait out the raptors until daybreak and go then -

He had forgotten about Barry.

"Eric Kirby."

* * *

 **Second cliff hanger in a row! Y'all probably hate me right now. I told you that Barry would be a big part in this fic!**

 **So, a lot of flipping between names in this chapter. I wanted to show how much being on Sorna again was screwing with Owen/Eric's sense of identity, and that seemed to be the best way to do it.**

 **And Rose is back! His screwy little relationship with a raptor pack has yet to stop affecting him. Sometimes, I think, "maybe I should cut Owen a break once in a while." Then I'm all, "Nah."**

 **Next chapter: Isla Sorna, Part II. Words will be had.**


	17. Chapter 17

**I was** _ **not**_ **expecting such a large response from that chapter! Seriously, I would check my email and it would be all "you have eight new messages." And they would all be because of the last chapter. I seriously love you all. Thanks to all that followed and favorited, and to** frytrix, icanhascamaro, child of Jon Snow, matronium, Curious-Brunette 13, TigerInTheMoonlight, Sava-chan, BlueRubyBeat, Dareagon, Kurohi Rokujou, Mistletainn, Daemonia Azrael Di Oz, KK, Muffy the Dough Slayer, Goldenbrook15, Ghost of Los Angeles, Hopewords, topazel, AshPhoenix93, Vagabond Soul, Lightning Scar, Sammy, bunny's pumpkin patch, dontblink, Guest, Cy, Pierce, Guest, Apache Thunderbird, Braeden1002, adambrodylover, Merecor, KirjavaDragon, MarcustheOne, Sammy, Guest, caitycaterpillar, Guest, Brady420, Guest, Beloved Daughter, Deadly Whirlpool, ShadowPhoenix1989, J.E.P 1996, **and** The house cat **for reviewing! Responses to questions/comments are at the bottom.**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Seventeen:** Barry has a Friend. This Friend Turns Out to have a Secret Identity, Like a Really Crappy Superhero. Barry Will Not Be Calling this Friend Raptor-Man.

Barry Dumont had known Owen Grady for quite some time. Bearing this in mind, he felt it was a justifiable assumption to think that he knew the man better than most.

This did not mean, however, that he thought that he knew Owen Grady.

Really, no one truly did, Barry suspected. At first impression, Owen was an open, cheerful individual whose secrets extended to his incredibly successful training techniques, but no further.

At second, third, fourth, ninth, twelfth impressions, you still suspect nothing.

Around the thirteenth impression, you start to realize that he never talks about his parents - or any of his family outside of vague references to unnamed aunts, uncles and cousins - but whenever the topic comes up, cracks appear in his facade, and he changes the topic as quickly as possible.

Around the fourteenth impression, you notice the way he strategically dances around anything about his early life, while still managing to make it sound completely natural.

(When this happens, you Google _Owen Grady_ , all the while telling yourself you're acting ridiculous.

You find dozens and dozens of reports about him as a first-rate trainer, and a few about his honorable discharge and time in the service, but nothing before the age of eighteen. Not even an old newspaper article about the cross country team Owen once mentioned in passing.

You keep looking, and you realize that there's nothing to suggest that Owen Grady even existed before his eighteenth birthday.

You shut the computer. You do not open it again.)

Around the fifteenth impression, you make a list of all the things you know for certain to be an absolute fact about him. The list consists of:

 _His name is Owen Grady._

 _He is an orphan._

 _He never discusses a time before this happened._

 _He was a Navy SEAL, but no one knows what he did in the service, because it was sealed away as Top Secret._

 _He is an excellent trainer._

 _He is my friend._

Then, you stop, and you realize that there is nothing else left to write.

Around the sixteenth impression, you finally notice the shadows that hide in his eyes where most people can't see, and you wonder if he got them all from the Navy.

Around the seventeenth impression, you hear him screaming in his sleep, and you rush to his bunk to wake him up. When he finally jolts into consciousness, he fights like a man possessed. You call his name in an attempt to get his attention. He does not respond. When he finally calms down, he attempts to play the entire thing off, but he can't seem to stop shaking no matter how hard he tries.

Later, you think about the complete and utter lack of recognition he had for his own name, go back to the list, and cross off _His name is Owen Grady._

Around the thirtieth impression, as bits of stray puzzle pieces begin to form an even more confusing picture than before, you wonder if you really know anything about the man you call friend. Then, you think back to the list, and the words _He is my friend,_ and you wonder if you need to cross those off too.

Around the thirty-first impression, you make a decision.

You decide to trust him.

You do not know him. You do not know anything about him.

But you still know more than most.

You know that Owen's favorite color is blue, not like the sky, but like the dark, midnight blue of deep waters in the moonlight. You know that labs make him twitchy, driving rain makes his eyes crease in memory, and that he wouldn't go near the Aviary at Jurassic World if his life depended on it. You know that, sometimes, the shadows in his eyes creep up even stronger than before, and he spends hours, days, even weeks at a time with his mind a million miles away. You know that he is a sociable, genial man, but that he very rarely calls anyone his friend.

You know that he calls _you_ his friend.

Most people wouldn't have been able to get close enough to see even the smallest breaks in his mask. Most people wouldn't have been allowed to become his _friend._ Most people wouldn't have been _trusted_ enough to become his friend.

Barry was. And Barry's decision was to trust Owen - or whatever his real name was, because he had serious doubts as to it being Owen - back.

Maybe he was trying to separate himself from a horrific past. Maybe his parents had been abusive, and that was why he never spoke of them. Maybe he had gotten caught up in something while he was a SEAL, and becoming Owen Grady was a necessity for his own safety. Maybe whoever he used to be didn't exist because he _couldn't_ exist, not anymore.

Maybe Barry didn't know, but had decided to stop looking anyway.

And then, they were sent to Isla Sorna. Well, technically, their presence was requested on a research expedition to Isla Sorna, but by the way Owen was acting, you'd think he had been sentenced to a Siberian gulag. Personally, Barry couldn't help but wonder why he had even agreed to go, but had ended up pushing the question to the side; he knew that it would be hopeless to speculate. Owen would make his decisions based on whatever mysterious criteria he held in his head, it would end up being right no matter how insane it seemed, and then he would be completely bewildered - _genuinely_ bewildered, not even _fake_ bewildered - about why no one else had been able to follow the same crazy train of logic through the the forest of whatever-the-Hell-goes-on-in-his-head, and arrive at the same should-be-wrong-but-isn't conclusion.

And, the longer they were on the island, the more pieces to the puzzle that was Owen Grady fell into place.

Barry had stopped looking for the truth about his friend, but that didn't mean he had stopped _seeing_ it.

Like the fact that those strange-rare-occurrences where Owen didn't seem to be aware that his name was, in fact, _Owen_ had become freaky-often-occurrences where he seemed genuinely puzzled that they were calling him that. Like the fact that, sometimes, Owen seemed to have information about the island that no one else did. Like the fact that, sometimes, Barry would glance at his friend and see the shadows in his eyes gnawing at his innards, far, far away from where most people could notice.

Like the fact that, one night, Barry thought that he heard Owen crying in his sleeping bag, but had been too scared to check, lest it be true.

Because Owen didn't cry. Ever. It was actually _terrifying_ how that man never cried. Granted, Barry was a Manly Man that hung out with other Manly Men, and Manly Men didn't do Unmanly things like dissolve into tears in front of each other, but everyone had limits, and Owen's didn't seem to _exist._ Barry had known the man for a long time, and there hadn't been a single. Damn. Tear. There hadn't been any lone drops, overflowing waterworks, or _what, no man, screw you I just have allergies_ incidents.

Barry had seen the man get _stabbed in the leg_ (very unfortunate incident with a disgruntled former employee and a terrified boss and an Owen that is constitutionally incapable of Staying Out of It), and his eyes didn't so much as _water._ The Crazy Sonovabitch had just gritted his teeth and made a very strangled groaning noise before punching his attacker in the face hard enough to knock him out, and then proceeded to limp over to the trailer that they were using as a command post for a freaking _Band-Aid._ Barry had literally found him trying to patch the wound together with Curious George Band-Aids and duct tape, _"just until I can stitch myself up, Barry, I swear,"_ at which point Barry called an ambulance. Because what the Hell, Owen, _what the Hell?_

When the ambulance got there, Owen just rolled his eyes and refused to get on the gurney, before limping over to the open doors of the vehicle and tossing an _"are you coming or what"_ over his shoulder to the stunned EMTs.

He had also refused all painkillers. Technically, he had tried to refuse all medical attention period, under the claim that it was an unnecessary waste of time and resources, but the painkillers were the only ones he could get away with. When Barry asked him why he didn't want to go to the hospital, Owen had just looked at him oddly and said, "I've have a lot worse, Barry, and handled it just fine on my own. Why would I need help now?"

If that wasn't a _thousand_ big freaking red flags, then Barry didn't know what was.

So, yes, Barry felt justified in his terror that there was actually something on Sorna that could drive that man to tears.

And as the trip wore on, the little clues piled up, and Barry started to see… nothing.

He couldn't make heads nor tails out of any of it. Barry had been _less_ confused at the start of this trip, despite having less information at the time. None of it made any sense.

So, when Owen decided to head out to change the camera batteries, Barry saw his chance. If he tagged along, he'd be alone with Owen for at least a couple hours. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be more willing to talk away from the group.

Barry hadn't been able to get any questions in the first half of the walk, but he hadn't been expecting to. If Owen was anything, he was vigilant, especially on Sorna. He would have never allowed for chit-chat, at least not at first.

By the time the velociraptors attacked, Barry had resolved himself to attempting a few hushed sentences on the way back before pushing the issue aside until they left the island.

Meeting an unrestrained, blatantly pissed velociraptor in the wild had easily been the most terrifying experience of Barry's life. Adrenaline had course through his veins, and some of the things that generally would be red flags to Barry had been pushed aside in favor of _running._

Things like the Owen greeting the raptors by name.

Things like the raptors seeming to know him.

Things like Owen knowing parts of the island that he shouldn't.

Things like _him knowing where Eric Kirby's water truck was._

And that, really, was what allowed all the pieces to fall into place.

 _Nobody_ had ever found that water truck. _Nobody._ And people had tried, some for the sake of proving or disproving the boy's account, some for fame, and some just for shelter from the island. The water truck had become something of an urban legend, with only Alan Grant and Eric Kirby himself knowing where it was.

And, apparently, Owen Grady.

All of the strange behaviors, nostalgic gazes, and haunted eyes suddenly clicked into place.

"Eric Kirby," Barry whispered in shock.

Owen stiffened.

"Eric Kirby," Barry repeated, louder. He stared at Owen's turned back. "That's your name, isn't it? Your _real name."_

A shaky breath rattled the man's form. "My name is Owen Grady," he denied hoarsely.

"But it hasn't always been," Barry pressed. " _Has it?"_

Owen flinched. Yet another thing that Owen Grady just _didn't do._

"No," he admitted softly. "No, my name has not always been Owen Grady."

Owen's - _Eric's_ hands were shaking, his white knuckle grip on the lantern tightening by the moment.

He was _terrified,_ Barry realized. He was even more scared than he had been when the raptors were about to _eat_ them. Then again, he had always been unusually calm in the face of bloody death.

Right, Barry thought. The velociraptors were sort-of friends with Eric Kirby, if you believed the rumors. Friends that had tried to eat him. Repeatedly.

Which meant that Owen was scared of _him._

"Bordel de merde," Barry decided, shaking his head.

A short, choked laugh escaped Owen's lips. "You said it."

"So," Barry began carefully, " _you_ are Eric Kirby."

"Uh, yeah," Owen - Eric - whatever - groaned, wiping his hand down his face. "I… am not drunk enough for this conversation."

"You don't like drinking."

"I'll learn," Owen dryly stated. "Can't be much worse than sobriety right now."

"Owen…" Barry trailed off. "This place…. It traumatized you. I may not have known why, but I could tell something was wrong. What are you doing back here?"

Owen tensed. "It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it."

"The raptors should be gone by now," Owen said suddenly. "They never keep looking after I lose them. It's not as fun for them."

Barry decided not to worry about _that_ statement. Yet. "Does that mean that we should head back?"

"No," Owen decided, shaking his head. "It's too late for that; it'll be dark soon." His hand ghosted over his side. "This island is dangerous at night."

Then, Barry thought back to the leaked hospital reports that he hadn't really cared about past a faint sense of pity, about a little boy who was attacked and almost eaten and escaped, only to nearly die from blood loss and illness. About a little boy that was all alone, and was forced to stitch himself up or die.

And he thought back to a friend with a knife wound in his leg, about tears that should have happened but didn't, and the decision that Band-Aids and duct tape would suffice.

 _I've have a lot worse, Barry, and handled it just fine on my own. Why would I need help now?_

And suddenly, Barry Dumont felt very, very sick.

Owen carried on, oblivious. "I need to call Alec. We've already been gone too long; if he gets worried and goes out looking for us, he's screwed. Do you still have the radio?"

Numbly, Barry passed over the walkie-talkie strapped to his belt, turned off so that any transmissions wouldn't alert the island's inhabitants to their presence. Owen calmly flipped it on, then frowned at the static.

"I'm going to duck outside really quick and try to get a signal. Stay in the truck," he ordered. Then, he was slipping out with a rusty _creak,_ leaving Barry alone with imagined memories and long-dead ghosts.

There was a dried blood stain on the floor, Barry noticed. It was rusted brown from age, but it was still there, too dark and too _real_ to deny. There were rags in the corner crusted over with a brown, flaky substance he really didn't want to think about, and words carved into the wall. There were stockpiled rations and ripped lab coats, and a dwindling supply of lanterns carefully stored. There was dirt and grime and filth, and absolutely _nothing_ to suggest that it had been a _twelve year old boy_ inhabiting it.

Barry thought it was the most depressing thing he had ever seen.

* * *

When everything was going wrong, Owen was always surprised when things actually went _right_ for once. By nature, he was not an optimistic person; it hurt a lot less when you were expecting to be kicked while you were down.

So when the metaphorical kicking turned into a metaphorical lollipop, Owen tended to be pleasantly surprised.

Like when you're on the island of your PTSD-induced nightmares, you've been chased through the woods by your weird, blood thirsty raptor "friends" who may or may not have given you Stockholm Syndrome, and, oh _, your best friend has just found out you're an infamous child disaster victim hiding out under a pseudonym,_ then it's a happy discovery when the rest of your team actually picks up the damn radio. Honestly, Owen had been expecting static or an ill-timed battery failure or something equally cliche to force them into the wilderness on an unnecessary and dangerous rescue expedition.

Maybe the big guy in the sky _didn't_ hate him.

A skin-crawling screech split the night air, reminding Owen about where exactly he was.

Right. Screw that, some deity despised him.

It had taken him ten nerve-wracked minutes to convince Alec not to come for them, the sun dropping lower all the while.

 _(please, God, let me live)_

Owen shook his head. The image of glowing eyes that weren't really there didn't go away.

"-funny, though."

"Sorry, what?" Owen asked, blinking. "Didn't catch that last bit."

"I said that it's funny that Levine of all people was the most insistent that we go looking for you."

Owen paused, bewildered. _"Levine?"_

"Yep," Alec declared, popping the 'p.' "He was the one that noticed you were late, actually. Apparently he always keeps an eye on the clock when someone's out of the bunker."

Huh.

Caramelized light filtered through the trees, the bronze glow of twilight heralding the night. As the sun slowly descended, Owen forced himself to watch.

By the time he reentered the water truck, Owen - Eric - _Owen's_ hands were shaking.

Barry was waiting for him.

"Okay," Owen sighed, slowly closing his eyes. "I guess I owe you an explanation."

"Start at the beginning," Barry decided, watching him carefully. "The _very_ beginning."

"Kind of a long story," Owen warned.

"We have time."

"I guess we do," Owen muttered, an ironic twist to his lips. He took a deep breath, and began.

"I was twelve years old when I was stranded on Isla Sorna…"

* * *

"Why?"

* * *

Because he couldn't take it anymore.

* * *

Because he had already lost everything there was to be had as Eric Kirby.

* * *

Because he just wanted to feel _normal_ again.

* * *

Because he was _sick and tired_ of his pain being on display to the world.

* * *

"Because I wanted to see what I could be away from this place. And that was never going to happen as Eric."

* * *

After hearing the unabridged version of the Eric Kirby Tale, Barry's head was spinning.

Nobody had ever really known for sure what had happened all those years ago. There had been the journal, granted, but the worst parts had been removed. While Grant had given several interviews on what happened on Nublar, and Malcolm had been _extremely_ outspoken about what happened during his dinosaur excursions, Grant had never given any comments about Sorna, and the Kirbys had hidden themselves as far away as they possibly could. Every little tidbit the grasping public seized had been watered down, edited, and taken out of context.

Barry found he had preferred it that way.

(Honestly speaking, he preferred it when Eric Kirby was an abstract, a poor story to be studied and pitied and forgotten. He preferred it when that little boy wasn't real, was just a fairy tale that didn't have a smile like sunlight off broken glass and a predilection towards gummy bears and parents that he never spoke of because it hurt too bad.

He preferred it when Eric wasn't Owen, because if Eric was Owen that meant Owen was Eric, and in all the tragic backstories Barry's starved imagination had conjured up over all the years, none were quite so terrible as that.)

"Barry?"

Frankly, he hadn't expected Owen to be asleep, and was not in the least surprised at being proven correct. The man had awkwardly ended their conversation with a stuttered excuse earlier that night before declaring they needed to rest, flicking off the lanterned with a practiced hand before curling up habitually in the corner of the truck, his tense muscles betraying his wakeful state.

Briefly, Barry had thought that he had heard a whispered goodnight to long dead parents, before he forced his eyes closed and feigned sleep.

"Yeah, Owen?"

A pause.

"Please don't tell anyone who I am."

Barry looked into the darkness of the dank water truck, and tried to imagine what Owen (because he was still Owen, and would stay Owen, because while Owen was a reality pieced together from shards of heartache and tragedy and glued with pain, he had grown into something fractured and patchwork but _whole_ , and Barry would be _damned_ before he ignored everything that his friend is for what he used to be) saw when he did the same.

Surprisingly enough, Owen hadn't made that request once the entire night.

For a moment, Barry paused, and wondered how many people would have given up Owen as Eric the moment they found out. Eric Kirby had been - is - a household name, after all. He had been in the news for months after his rescue, and then again when he disappeared; his vanishing act was considered one of the great mysteries of the modern age. If anybody _did_ expose the truth behind the scandal, quite a bit would be put in their reach.

Fame. Money. Their five-minutes of fame carved from a lifetime of pain.

Barry was starting to figure out why Owen didn't have that many friends.

Owen was talking again, his voice stumbling over words when he realized Barry hadn't responded. "It's just - I've got this life now, and while the park probably wouldn't fire me from the project, things would still be complicated, and they'd try to capitalize on the publicity and there would be a bunch of press and - and I've got a _life_ now." Owen took a ragged breath, and bit out his next words as if they caused him pain. "So please please _please_ don't tell anyone who I am."

Barry closed his eyes, and wondered if it said more about Owen or him that Owen had ever needed to ask. "I won't tell."

Softly, Owen whispered, "Thank you."

The darkness became the smoky outline of a predator Barry had never seen, a bloody boat, a crashing car. Closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see anymore, he wondered if Owen's demons were banished with a flutter of eyelids.

Barry doubted it.

"Do you ever miss it? Being Eric?"

Owen didn't respond. Not for a long time.

When he did, Barry didn't think it was Owen saying it.

"I still am, sometimes. When it matters."

* * *

Barry Dumont was too old to be climbing trees.

That being said, Barry Dumont was climbing a tree.

"Little bit farther," Owen grunted, slipping through the branches with a practiced ease. Then, he paused, shifting carefully on a limb, before calmly flinging himself off his perch and onto the adjacent tree. Because clearly he was insane.

"So you're secretly a gymnast too?" Barry called, gaping.

Owen laughed. "Mixed martial artist, actually. But close enough."

Owen had been laughing more since last night. Smiling, too. Barry hadn't realized how rare the occurrences were before now.

It wasn't that he was an overtly serious man - he wasn't. In fact, Owen was one of the most joking, genial men Barry had ever met. It's just that there was always _something_ in his expression holding him back. There was always some little part of him watching every proceeding carefully, hidden but there, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

(And, while friendly greetings and jesting words were given freely, Owen carefully hoarded his smiles and laughs, because he knew how easily all occasion for them could be taken away, and that loss hurt a lot less when they weren't common in the first place.)

But now that there was someone that knew who he was, Owen had let down some of his shields. Not many, mind, but some. He kept the drawbridges up and walls raised high, but allowed a window the crack open, and let Barry peer in.

Barry was noticing a lot he hadn't before.

Owen didn't like having his back to doors, windows, or large, open spaces. His head was constantly tilted, listening, and he zeroed in on the slightest sounds. When he was nervous, he rubbed his hand over something in his pocket - a raptor claw, apparently.

He also smiled at triceratops, groaned when he saw compys, and got a childish gleam in his eye when he saw brachiosaur. He saw predators' game trails as if they were outlined in neon lights, and always kept a rock on hand in case of dilophosaurus.

And when he saw a pair of tall, twisted trees overlooking a cliff, he outright grinned before starting up one.

It really wasn't a hard decision to follow him.

"You coming or what?"

The trainer was easily perched on the edge of the adjoining tree, crouching as if he was goddamn _Batman_. Raptor-Man. Actually - no. Just no.

Owen had a flare for the dramatics, Barry decided. An unhealthy, unholy flare for the dramatics, which would cause him endless trouble now that he knew what Owen was doing.

"Are you crazy, Owen?" Barry demanded.

Owen grinned, wild and free. "Depends on who you ask."

Barry jumped.

Owen's hands caught his as Barry scrambled for purchase on one of the low-hanging branches, lugging him up with a groan. "Haven't done this since I was a kid," he chuckled, sagging against the trunk.

"Oh yeah?" Barry queered, high on endorphins and heady with knowledge. "How many times did you fall back then?"

"Only three or four," Owen declared, shrugging. "Wasn't too far up when I slipped, but I was lucky I didn't break anything when it happened. Would've been really screwed then."

Barry's smile slipped for a moment. "Why did you keep coming if it was so dangerous?"

"Because it's the best damn view on the island. Come on."

Shuffling across the branches, Owen scaled higher, bidding a groaning Barry to follow him. The thick leaves began to clear gradually, the view becoming clearer and brighter, until a massive, vibrant valley was stretched out before him.

 _The_ valley. The Eric Kirby Valley. The valley over which the most comprehensive study to date on the behaviors of dinosaurs in the wild was performed.

It was more beautiful than Barry had ever imagined.

Wistfully, Owen gazed out over the landscape, his mind a decade in the past. "I spent most of my time here," he stated softly. "Couldn't find a way off, none of my signals were working,I had enough supplies, and - and I wanted to live. I wanted to fight. I couldn't just _hide away_ in that stupid water truck - I would have been dead then. I'd be _alive,_ but I wouldn't be living. So I came to this stupid tree everyday and I wrote in that stupid journal and I lived. I found a way to have a life." Then, he laughed, something low and ugly and dead. "Wasn't so easy to do again when I got off."

"Is that why you came back?" Barry asked, curious. "Because you missed this place?"

The window shut. Owen's shields locked back down, as insurmountable as ever. "No," he answered quietly. "No, that's not why I came back."

"Then why?"

"We've wasted enough time," Owen replied. "Alec said if we weren't back by two he's coming after us. It's time to get going again."

Eric Kirby took one last long, melancholy look at the horizon.

He left the tree. He did not look back.

Slowly, Barry sighed, then followed him.

* * *

The bunker door opened before they reached it.

"There they are!" Alec proclaimed, bounding out of the crawlspace like an overexcited golden retriever. "Two _lucky_ sons of bitches who made it through the night!"

"Inside first," Owen decided, eyeing the bushes with unconcealed suspicion.

"Right," Alec grinned, his excitement unfaltering. He bounced back inside, already prattling on about the scientists and what had happened the night before and just how _worried_ Levine actually was for them.

And he was a former SEAL. Like Owen.

Barry was starting to wonder about that military branch.

As they entered, a round of applause rang out, each scientist bar Levine giving them a standing ovation. The outlier merely flicked his eyes over their forms, relaxed minutely, then dryly informed them that their disappearance interfered with the observation schedule.

Owen grinned, but, through some divine force, said nothing.

Unfortunately, there was no godly interference on Hell, Heaven, or Purgatory that could keep Alec Greenway's mouth shut. Smirking, the man bounced over to Levine's seat and slung an arm around his shoulders, shaking him good naturedly. "Aw, don't be like that! Richie here was the one who noticed you were missing! Said you had 'exceeded the average time required for the task,'" he chortled. "Wanted to send out a search party straight away."

"I'm a scientist," Levine spluttered. "It's my job to notice things. And it is only logical to want to make sure nothing would impede our research time - which this little excursion _has."_

Owen held up his hands in acquiescence, a smirk still twitching at his lips.

Levine grumbled, and turned away.

"So how'd you guys make it through the night?" Cho asked. "Where'd you sleep?"

Faltering, Owen's eyes flickered to Barry, worry barely noticeable on his facade. They hadn't exactly come up with a story to tell the others, too busy with their own revelations.

Granted, they could just say that they had stumbled upon Eric Kirby's water truck by accident, but that brought up whole new problems. Of course, everyone would want to see it, and InGen had an active request for all expeditions to Sorna to keep watch for the location of the shelter, complete with a bonus for whoever discovered it. With the hype that came with all things Kirby, Barry wouldn't be surprised if they allowed a news crew to be escorted to the truck, in hopes of a story that generated more business. Seeing as they technically owned the water truck, along with everything in it, they'd be well within their rights to exploit it anyway they saw fit.

Except… it was _Owen's_ truck. It was his before he was him, when he was just a scared little boy named Eric. It was his, and it would always be his, no matter what the deed of ownership said.

Barry thought back to the bloodstains, and the scratches on the walls, and those goddamn _goodnights,_ and he knew he couldn't say a word.

"A tree," he stated firmly. "Spent the whole night clinging to a tree with this idiot. Cold as Hell, and Owen snores to boot."

Alec laughed. "I know the feeling. There were at least _six_ guys in the service that sounded like damn _chainsaws_ in the night. I mean, they had to have some kind of sinus problem or _something,_ because let me tell you, the unholy sounds that came out of those men were not native to planet Earth, and…"

Owen looked at him over Alec's cheerfully prattling head, and mouthed, _Thank you._

* * *

The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful.

They did their job, babysat the scientists, and Barry kept an eye on Owen for any forthcoming mental breakdowns (there weren't any). He stood guard, shot four consecutive pack carnivores that tried their luck, watched as Owen took out six and Alec two, and kept looking for trauma-related panic attacks that never came. Eventually, their time on the island was over, and Barry spent the entirety of the evac alternating between packing their many rolls of duct tape and studying Owen to the point that the man pulled him aside to ask him to stop stalking him. He was fine, and had been fine for years, and didn't need to be coddled, thank you very much.

Barry flushed, then compiled.

(Owen spent the entire boat ride back looking off the rear of the boat, where Sorna was disappearing in the mist.

Barry did not comment on this fact.)

It wasn't until the debrief that cracks began to appear.

"Your report says that you were separated from the group for a night," Claire declared, barely-there creases of worry at the corners of her eyes. "It also states that you spent it in a tree. Describe it, please."

"Well," Owen began meaningfully, "it was tall. And had green leaves. I think there was bark. What do you think, Barry?" he asked, his eyes innocently wide. "Do you remember bark?"

The creases disappeared, replaced with annoyance. "You know what I mean, Mr. Grady. Please describe _the night_ you were separated."

Owen crinkled his nose. "So I'm _Mr. Grady_ now? I told you to call me Owen."

" _Mr. Grady,_ I think that -"

Owen's hands were curled into sharp white fists around his armrests.

The rest of the meeting passed with antagonistic comments and barely concealed insults. As soon as it was finished, Owen swept out of the room, his strides just a tad to fast to pass as relaxed.

Barry hesitated.

Huffing, Ms. Dearing shuffled her papers into order, muttering obscenities under her breath. Slowly, she noticed him. "Can I help you, Mr. Dumont?"

Barry bit his lip, considering. "I was just wondering… Why was Owen required on this trip?"

"Mr. Grady was not required, Mr. Dumont. No one was. It was entirely optional for everyone."

"Then why did he go?" he demanded, stepping forward.

Claire glanced at him, surprised.

"I mean, he never seemed all that interested in Sorna," Barry corrected. "I thought he would want to stay here and focus on his project. If he wasn't required by contract, why would he go?"

"You'd have to ask Mr. Grady that. Was there anything else?"

"Uh, no," Barry stuttered, turning. "Thank you for your time."

"Actually," she stated, tilting her head thoughtfully. Barry turned back around. "Come to think of it, he almost didn't go. He came to my office trying to reject the offer, before he changed his mind."

Barry's breath caught in his throat. "Why?"

Claire looked at him curiously. "He found out you had already accepted your invitation."

Son of a bitch.

* * *

Owen was never the type to fall apart under pressure. He thrived in it, operated better in conflict than he ever did during peace. While he was on Sorna as a child, he never panicked when he was in danger, only to shake uncontrollably when he returned to his water truck. When he was in the service, he was cool and collected in a firefight, and only began to feel fear after he was safe. He never had a nightmare when he was in a hostile environment, but screamed himself awake every time he slept someplace secure enough to make noise.

It was always, always, _always_ when he was safe that he began to collapse internally.

Owen made it all the way to his bungalow before the panic attack set in. He was almost proud.

Almost.

At first, he didn't think anything would happen. He had been snappish during the debrief, granted, but he was always that way around Dearing nowadays. It absolutely did not have anything to do with the fear brewing in his veins.

Really.

The ride back had seemed to do him good, the winds tearing away all sensations as he rode his motorcycle faster than was strictly safe. He entered his bungalow, tossed his keys on the table, and made it halfway to the couch before he realized that _he actually just did that._

He had been back to Isla Sorna.

He had seen _(been hunted by)_ Rose again.

He had been Eric again.

 _Barry_ knew he was Eric.

Owen was on the floor, his breath coming in short gasps, before he realized what was happening.

(For a moment, he thought he could hear Ben screaming.)

 _My name is Eric Kirby. No, wait, that's not right, it's Owen. It's - It's - I'm on an island. Sorna - no - Nublar. I'm in my bungalow. I'm safe._

 _(I'm not safe.)_

He couldn't breathe.

" _-okay, you're okay, you're okay -"_

Something was touching him, Owen realized. He jerked briefly, his hands trying to shove into defensive position, only for the arms around him to tighten.

He was being _hugged._

By _Barry,_ he realized a moment later.

"Barry?" Owen gasped when words came back to him. "Why are you hugging me?"

"... I don't really know. It seemed to be the thing to do at the time."

They froze awkwardly.

"You can let go now," Owen eventually stated. "I'm good."

"Oh. Right." Slowly, the arms untangled themselves from around his form. Owen shuffled back from where Barry was awkwardly crouched on the floor, blinking in surprise.

No one spoke.

"Let's nevertell Alec that happened," Owen decided reluctantly. "He'd never shut up about it."

Snorting, Barry nodded.

"Why are you here, Barry?" Owen asked tiredly, wiping his face.

"I spoke with Claire."

Owen closed his eyes. "Oh?"

"I would have been fine, Owen."

"No, you wouldn't have," he replied softly.

"I would have been -"

"You don't know that island," Owen interrupted. "Not like I do. It's insidious. It gets inside your head until you think you belong. Until you can't leave. And sometimes - _a lot of the time,_ you don't. You get eaten by a raptor or attacked by the Rexes or ambushed by the compys or - or you just _die._ It's - it's _dangerous_ there. I - Like _Hell_ was I letting you go there on your own."

Barry didn't respond.

"Look," Owen sighed. "Sorna, it - it screws with my head. I don't think right when I'm there. I said a lot of things that I probably shouldn't have, and - it'd just be best if we forgot it. All of it."

"What if I don't want to forget?"

Surprised, Owen looked up.

"I'm your friend, Owen," Barry said, slow but determined. "Eric. Whatever. Friends help each other, whether with their problems or -" he explained, waving his hand abstractly, "with weird secret identity crap. And if what happened on that island can help me be a better friend, I want to remember it."

Owen paused. "Oh."

Barry glanced at him, exasperated. "That's all you have to say?"

"I'm not that great with the whole - _friends_ thing."

"No, _really?"_

"Your sass is not appreciated."

Barry snorted, a smirk twitching at his lips. Owen bit down a grin of his own. Slowly, a full blown laugh bubbled up Dumont's throat, and the man doubled over, laughing hysterically at the sheer _ridiculousness_ of the situation. Owen grinned, and followed suit.

When the pair calmed, Owen smiled. "Thank you, Barry. For everything."

"You're still a crazy sonovabitch, Owen, even when that's not your name."

Owen rolled his eyes. "So I've been told."

The phone rang, silencing them both. Owen yanked his cell out from his pocket, eyeing the caller ID trepidatiously. Reluctantly, he answered. "Hello?"

"Owen," Alan said pleasantly, and Owen's gut instantly tightened in fear. "I've been trying to reach you all week. Your phone was out of service for some reason. Eventually, I had to call your department at the island. You have an Uncle Alan from Nebraska now, by the way. And a pet pig that's been run over by a tractor. You're very upset by this fact. Her name was Princess Sunshine Sugarlumps."

"Naturally."

"Do you know what your department told me?"

Owen closed his eyes. "What could that be?"

"That you were running security on a research expedition. To _Isla Sorna."_

Flopping backwards, Owen laid on the ground and _laughed,_ because he didn't really remember how to cry anymore.

* * *

 **I'm back! I'm so sorry for all the delays recently. I could make excuses, but that wouldn't fix anything, so I will just leave you with the promise to write much more often recently. Notes:**

 **Barry speaks French for a moment. He says "Bordel de merde." I do not speak French, so I had to turn to the internet for that. If you ask Google translate, it means "crap of shit," which is the weirdest swear I have ever even heard of. If you ask the French swear words website I found, it means "oh f* %." Either way, he's swearing.**

 **Responses to questions:**

KK: **You did not actually ask a question, but I just wanted to wish you a good recovery from your surgery! Get well soon! Thanks for reading! This chapter is dedicated to you!**

Everyone who was upset there wasn't duct tape in the tool kit: **I am embarrassed to admit that I actually forgot the duct tape. Eric/Owen (Eren?** Apache Thunderbird **has dubbed him** **Eren. I am okay with this developing into a thing) would be ashamed of me. I have gone back and added duct tape to the list, because that is a necessary staple of dinosaur related adventures.**

bunny's pumpkin patch **:** **Get well soon to you too! I don't mind questions, but I don't always answer them, if I feel it will give away too much of the plot. As of this point, I am planning on Owen having a relationship in his future, but I won't say when or who it will happen with. However, this will only be more of a background aspect of the story; I'm not going to focus too much on it, so even if y'all don't like it, it will only be a small thing that should be easily ignorable. I am comfortable with telling you that he and Claire will be friends again, but I refuse to disclose who else will find out Owen's Eric. If I say now, it completely steals my thunder. I never give up my thunder.**

dontblink: **As of this point, I see this excursion onto Sorna as his last, but that is liable to change as the plot develops.**

Everyone who figured out about Helen Cho and John Holmes: **Congrats on spotting the names! Throughout the story I have embedded names of characters from other fandoms, or from the original Jurassic Park books. These characters may or may not be based on the actual characters, or they may just share the names; it varies. If they're from the books, then they're based on the original character, like Ed Regis from way back when. Like chapter seven or something (I'm too lazy to check which chapter he's in, okay?). If they're from other fandoms, like Helen Cho from Marvel or John Holmes (a combination of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes' names), they may or may not have the same attributes as the character they're based off of. Sometimes, when I'm naming OCs, I decide to slide in a reference to other fandoms, just as a little tribute, and see if anyone notices. I feel like I've just spawned some kind of epic quest to go back through the story and figure out which names I made up and which ones are from other fandoms or something.**

MarcusTheOne: **As of this time, no. In the future, maybe. That's all I'm going to say. (And, for the record, my maybes are actual maybes, not those weird "that's totally a yes and she just doesn't want to say it" maybes. It could happen; it could not happen.)**

Sammy: **I am never harassed by reviews! Seriously, I'm addicted to them. I read them all the time. I'm so glad you like the story!**

Guest: **Making Claire all bitchy was actually not my intention. I was trying to highlight the antagonistic relationship between them. When I write, it's from the bias of a specific character. At that point, it was from Owen's perspective, who was incredibly biased due to his PTSD-related fear - completely justifiable, but still biased. When I write, I try not to make my characters all good or all bad. I like to have shades of gray. I'm not sure if I succeed in that, but it's my intention. Claire has a side of the story too; we just don't see it all the time.**

The house cat: **People hate me. People love me. We're all a little mad here.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Thanks to** TigerInTheMoonlight, child of Jon snow, Brady420, AshPhoenix93, Beloved Daughter, Sava-chan, Lightningscar, bunny's pumpkin patch, ImploringIdeal, Guest, Kurohi Rokujou, Ghost of Los Angeles, BenjiTheTurtle, Apache Thunderbird, KK, Review, Dragonrider 101, Nightingrave, tipsu, Guest, Pierce, MarcusTheOne, darklyndsea, dragonfox123, Pierce again, Guest, , Sandyheart, TheCRAZYAunt, Emma the Red Luxray, DaughterofDante, **and** random person **for reviewing, along with everyone who followed, favorited, and PM'd me! I know these horrible updates don't make it seem like it, but I honestly love them all so much. Replies at the bottom.**

 **Also:**

 **I'm sorry.**

* * *

 **Of Astronomers and Astronauts**

 **Chapter Eighteen:** In Which Absolutely No One Follows the Super Secret Code Words Procedure, and Owen Grady Cements his Position in the Dog House.

Blue was born on a Sunday.

The new batch of eggs had arrived not long after they returned from the Business Trip That Shall Not Be Named, and Owen buried himself in preparations. The new habitat had to be finalized; he had to begin teaching the eggs language; and he had to convince Barry that yes, he was fine, no, it wasn't unhealthy to stop sleeping for a few days at a time, and no, he absolutely would not consider seeing a psychiatrist.

He also had to hide the fact that Barry knew he was Eric from the rest of the family, who absolutely Could Not Find Out.

The eggs were a welcome distraction.

They were declared viable two days after they returned, and Owen spent every succeeding day visiting them. There were four of them of varying sizes, each just as beautiful as the last.

Then came the day when one wobbled and shook, and a small, veiny head peaked through the crack.

The labs had given him notice almost a week before the day of the hatching, and by the time they finally came, Owen had spent two days camped out in the private hatching room with them.

Blue's egg had been the smallest. It had also been the first to hatch.

"Hey there, beautiful," Owen hummed. The blue streaked head looked in his direction, curious. She cooed. Carefully plucking an egg shard off her slick skin, he smiled. "Good girl," he murmured. "You're a sweet girl, aren't you?"

A sharp nip to his ring finger countered his assumption.

"A fierce girl," Owen corrected, a smirk tugging at his lips. He rubbed his finger along a pale blue streak, and suddenly, Blue was Blue.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Charlie, Echo, and Delta's names were not originally based in the military alphabet. Granted, it did have some influence over them, but it wasn't the driving force behind Owen's decision.

Rather, it was how Echo stumbled and wobbled from her very first minute, oh so reminiscent of a young brachiosaur who would become overbalanced by her own head. Because while Owen was Owen, he was also Eric, and Eric was built of memories and held together by hope, and clumsy little Echo had given him just enough hope to warrant a fitting tribute. Delta and Charlie followed naturally.

Owen stayed in a room with them, alone, for almost two weeks. Learning about them. Teaching them about him.

 _(don't get too attached, mr. grady. they may not live long enough to ever leave that room.)_

Echo was the goof of the group. She was the one that chittered from sister to sister, nipping and chirping and teasing. She was the one that always wanted to play, but skittered off in fright and shame if Owen chastised her.

 _(careful, girl. the world may be interesting, but it's still has it's dangers._

 _that's part of the reason why it's so beautiful.)_

Charlie was the heart. She constantly sought out attention from her sisters, and shot moon eyes over at Owen every second of every day. Her favorite spot was Owen's vest pocket, right above his heart, and she crooned in victory every time he acquiesced to her begging, and slipped her inside.

 _(what are you, crazy? you can't have a raptor so close to you. they're animals - wild, vicious animals. they'll rip out that stupid heart of yours if you keep one_ right over it.

 _those things'll kill you, one of these days.)_

Delta was the rebel. She was the one that nipped at his fingers and squawked in protest when he scolded her, and never tired of testing Owen's limits. Limits that Owen had been careful to set firmly and without exception on Day One; he couldn't risk _any_ sign of weakness, with raptors. When she was older, it would almost definitely be a problem. Now, it was endearing.

 _(i never understood it before i knew who you were, you know. never understood how much you could love them. still don't, not really._

 _i think it makes a bit more sense now, though.)_

Blue was the Beta, unquestionably. She was the one in charge, the one who snapped her sisters into order. They all respected Owen, but Blue was the only raptor that held the respect of the rest.

Owen was the only one Blue respected.

 _(just be careful, okay, eric? i know you - i know what happens when you care about something. and that's okay. but these raptors are gonna get dangerous fast. you can care for them, care_ about _them, but don't care so much that you can't think straight anymore._

 _don't love them. whatever you do, don't love them.)_

For two weeks, their world consisted of:

Four small raptors.

A single room.

An Alpha.

And he _was_ their Alpha - for now, at least. Owen could see that, in the same way that he could see exasperated tolerance Rose held for him and the subtle fondness the Sorna raptors had nurtured for him over the months. For now, they would respect him, obey him, trust him.

In the future…. he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

 _(there's my girls. that's right, you're my girls.)_

* * *

"They're cute, aren't they?"

The girls fumbled in front of the computer, peering at the shifting screen curiously. Owen had already given the device a raptor-name, and deemed it _Forbidden._

He hoped they listened to it. The last thing he needed was to try to cite _Baby Raptor Teething_ on an insurance claim form.

Alan shot him a flat, exasperated look. "Adorable. With razor sharp teeth."

Owen rolled his eyes. "Velociraptors aren't aggressive for the first six months," he reminded him. "You know that. And six months in, they'll respect me."

"What happens when they don't?"

"Well, I'll have to make sure it doesn't come to that."

"Eric -"

Owen coughed, then shook his head.

Rolling his eyes, Alan looked at him flatly. "The Navy has made you paranoid," he solemnly informed him.

Owen scoffed. "I was paranoid way before that."

"I sincerely doubt Jurassic World is monitoring their employees' Skype calls."

"I never said that they were."

"You were thinking it," Alan snorted.

"I was," Owen conceded. "This line isn't the most secure thing in the world. Let's keep references to the minimum."

"Should we talk in code while we're at it? Maybe make a signaling system with hand movements and flashlights?"

" _Alan."_

"Alright, alright," the paleontologist conceded. _"Owen._ Look, I know you've always been good with raptors - or at least as good as you can get, with something like them. But they're still raptors. And you're human. Don't forget that."

"I'm their Alpha," Owen stubbornly insisted. "I'll be fine."

"God, I hope so," Alan muttered, wiping a hand tiredly down his face. "I know that we don't talk about your parents much -"

"Ever," Eric interrupted. "We haven't spoken of them _ever,_ not since they died."

If he was being honest, he sounded spooked.

If he was being honest, he was spooked.

It was just…. they didn't mention Paul and Amanda Kirby. Ever. They had discussed Sorna, raptors, bullet wounds, and nightmares, but not _once_ had they so much as said the _names_ of the parents of Eric Kirby.

This was entirely due to Owen's complete and utter reluctance to do so.

Eric had loved his parents, and so did Owen. But he had given them up, that day that he gave up his name.

It wasn't because he didn't love them. It wasn't that he wanted to forget them.

It was the simple fact that it hurt too much to hang on. Hanging on to them was like hanging onto a knife blade: the tighter you held, the deeper it cut. He had to let them go for the same reason he had to become Owen Grady.

Still, he had never forgotten his parents. He would always be their son, even if he didn't share their name. They lingered in the purgatory of his memories, far, far away from his expressed thoughts.

Not even once had they strayed from there. Not _once_ had he discussed their loss with anyone else. Nobody had dared, in the mess of becoming Owen, to confront him about his loss. Then, he had joined the Navy, and the subject's relevance slipped away with time.

Nobody spoke of them, because they didn't know how.

"I promised them I'd look out for you," Alan said, tossing the words out haphazardly and letting them flip and fall between them. Owen remained silent. "If anything ever happened to them. I said I'd keep an eye on you. Make sure you were okay."

Owen remained silent.

"I know the three of us never really got along," Alan continued. "Hell, the only thing we ever agreed on was you. But they trusted me to make sure you didn't get yourself killed on your own."

Owen remained silent.

"I'm not really sure how well I've done with that." Suddenly, Alan looked very, very old. "You've been depressed, injured, shot at, _shot -_ Hell, I'm not even _allowed_ to know what you got up to in the military - and now you're back on one of those islands. So I can't really say I've been altogether successful in my duty."

Owen tried to interrupt. Alan stopped him.

"But you're alive," he said firmly. "You're alive, and I want to make sure you stay that way. What I'm trying to say is - I want to help. With any of it. A second opinion, _anything._ Just tell me what I can do to help."

Owen paused, shut his mouth and opened it again. One, two, three heartbeats passed. When Owen spoke, he sounded just a little hoarse, barely enough to be noticeable. Blue squawked at him curiously. "I'm finalizing the enclosure soon. It needs to be done before the girls get too big."

A pause.

"I'd like any advice you'd have on it."

"I'd be happy to," Alan answered eventually. "Do you want to send me the plans, or…?"

Owen bit his lip. "Sure. Or… You could do an in-person consult, if you want."

Silence.

"At Jurassic World?"

"If you want to," Owen stressed. "I know this island doesn't hold the best memories for you and everything - I just thought I'd offer."

"How would we even explain how you knew me?"

"My family helped fund one of your digs," Owen suggested, shrugging his shoulders. "You allow your benefactors to visit with their kids - technically true - and sometimes let the kids help around the site - also technically true. I was interested in dinosaurs, and you liked me. We stayed in touch."

"You've put a lot of thought into this."

Owen shrugged noncommittally. "You're my family, and Nublar is my home. I just thought it'd be nice if you had the option to visit."

"I'd like to."

Owen looked up.

Smiling slightly, Alan repeated himself. "I'd like to visit. I'd like to see where you work. I'd like to meet your... raptors."

"You mean it?" Owen's voice absolutely did not squeak.

Alan offered a wane smile. "Sure. What's the worst that could happen?"

"You did not just say that."

"Ian would be ashamed, wouldn't he?"

"I can hear him ranting about Chaos Theory from here."

They both snickered, like the Mature Adults they were.

"Okay…" Owen hummed. "I'll guess get the paperwork set up. Thank you, Alan. It means a lot to me."

"Owen?" the paleontologist prompted, a curious look in his eye. "You're parents wouldn't like what you're doing there. They wouldn't like that you're back on one of those islands."

Owen deflated instantly. "I know," he promised.

"They didn't always approve of the things you did," Alan continued. "To them, you were always a bit less cautious and a bit more reckless than they felt comfortable with."

Owen shut his eyes. Blue crooned at him from the table. "I know."

"But," Alan braced, "they were _always_ proud as Hell of you."

Owen opened his eyes again.

"Even when you were in trouble, they were proud of you. They would talk about you all the time, you know. They'd go on and on about how you were so much smarter than them because no matter what they did you'd always know how to sneak out, and how you'd picked a fight with three kids twice your size and still won. Somehow, they could manage to be _furious_ with you, but still use it as proof as to why you were a fantastic kid." Alan looked at him steadily. "I can't pretend that your parents would have liked you being around dinosaurs again. I can't even pretend that they would have understood it. But Eric…. they're so proud of you right now. I know it. You're not letting what happened to you in the past define you, and God knows that they're bragging about it everyday. Literally. Your mom's probably up there right now, interrupting some Heavenly chorus to tell about her son the velociraptor trainer, and how she's going to kill that idiot of a paleontologist that let him go through with his plans -"

Owen snorted. "You know she's got a lecture ready for _both_ of us. And that she probably practices it with Dad."

"Amanda Kirby may just kill us both the second we're through those Pearly Gates," Alan agreed gravely.

The pair devolved into giggles once more. Manly giggles. For men.

Blue looked at Owen like she was faintly considering killing off the obviously-diseased Alpha and assuming his place.

When they both regained control of themselves, Alan looked at Owen curiously. "So, anything new?"

Owen shook his head. "No," he lied.

* * *

It wasn't that he didn't trust his family. He did.

It wasn't that he didn't trust _Barry._ He did.

It was just that this entire situation was so… _new._

This was all so new, so fragile, and Owen was scared a single misstep would ruin it all. He had never had someone outside his family know who he was; he was still learning the ropes to it. And he wanted the freedom to learn without the added pressure of his family's expectations - and their worries.

After Sorna, the silent pressure of their mutually acknowledged deception had hung lower, heavier. Nobody said anything, but it was all there, in the back of their minds. The fragile reality of their lie had become a bit more noticeable, a bit more present.

Owen had already caused them enough grief with his past. He didn't want to add to it.

And Barry… Barry was still coming to terms with the entire thing. He was handling it great, thank God, but it was still a blow. While he didn't outrightly say anything, he questioned Owen a bit more often than he did before, and seemed to trust him a bit less.

Owen simply wanted Barry to get to know Eric before he was introduced to the rest of the Dino Clan.

He had time. Before he had to come clean to his family, he still had time.

* * *

Jurassic World security was run by one of the scariest yet coolest people Owen Grady had ever met.

An ex-Delta Force vet, Chris Richards took crap from absolutely no one, had his own way of doing things, and was usually right about how he did them.

He was also the only one on the island that could beat Owen at poker, but Owen didn't like to open that wound.

(Rumor had it that once, Her Royal Highness Queen Claire had condescended to play against Richards.

Rumor also had it that she won.

Owen really didn't like to open that wound.)

Richards was aged, grizzled, and yet could still somehow take the majority of his underlings on in a physical confrontation. He had single handedly thwarted at least four near-disasters on the island, and as such had earned the right to his own methods. Some were efficient, some were less so, but at the end of the day, they got the job done.

One such method was requiring both electronic and paper copies of any and all outside personnel request forms.

In all honesty, Owen would have vastly preferred electronic copies to paper. They were more environmentally friendly, and had the added benefit of allowing him a greater ease in dodging awkward conversations.

"This is a request to bring in Dr. Alan Grant," Richards stated flatly.

All in all, outside consultations weren't all that uncommon. While Jurassic World made a point to hire the best, sometimes the best didn't want to live on the Island of Many Painful Deaths, and only came for brief, easily survivable periods. This had the added benefit of opening up the park to the expertise of those dedicated to other projects, or those unable to move their families halfway across the planet. As long as it remained within the study's budget and the consultant passed the security checks, it was allowed.

Of course, it was a slightly different matter to bring in Alan Freaking Grant.

Owen nodded amiably. "Yes," he agreed.

"The paleontologist, Alan Grant."

Owen nodded again. "Yes," he agreed again.

"The paleontologist who swore never to set foot on these islands again _so help him God,_ Alan Grant."

"Yes," Owen said again.

Blue glanced up from where she was nestled in her baby carrier and squawked, irritated. Quickly following suit, her sisters added their voices to the chorus.

Owen found himself agreeing with them: This was very annoying.

"And do you _have_ to bring those things everywhere?" Richards asked crossly.

"Those _things_ have _names,"_ Owen reminded him. "And _feelings."_

Richards glared.

There were very strict, clearly outlined rules for Owen's dealings with the raptors. Namely, he couldn't drag them all across the park willy-nilly, and accidently lose four baby velociraptors as if they were adventurous toddlers that had slipped from their kiddie-leashes. That being said, he also couldn't abandon them whenever he pleased. Their development was fragile, and very critical, and Masrani himself had made it very clear that the dinosaurs were the priority. Blue, Charlie, Delta, and Echo were not to be separated from their Alpha at any time.

Eventually, they had come to a decision: Owen would remain at his bungalow in the Restricted Section with the girls for the majority of the time, away from the rest of the park, and if he needed to leave for any reason, it would be before or after park hours, and he would bring them with him using a special reinforced baby carrier that had had a caged top, which Owen conveniently lost within ten seconds of receiving.

Granted, older, vicious raptors required more safety procedures, but velociraptors weren't hostile _at all_ for the first six month of their life - they were actively affectionate, in fact - and that had given Owen some wiggle room.

Blue said: _man big stupid_ _ **fight**_ _**win?**_

Owen responded: _man ally smart no fight unknown_

 _ **Win**_ _,_ chirped Blue back. **Alpha** _ **winwinwin**_

The pack's vocabulary, rudimentary as it was, had expanded rapidly, much to Owen's delight. They were communicating _,_ unmistakably _communicating,_ and that stunned Owen every time he lifted the resonating chamber to his lips.

The vocabulary was sparse, and the sentence structure was still clumsy, but it was _something._ And while Owen found himself stumbling through every exchange they had, he loved every second of it. He had a list of rules in his head, things that would be considered grammar and syntax and accent if his partly-made-up animal tongue could ever be considered a _language,_ and they were incomplete and cluttered and confusing, and Owen absolutely _loved_ every last one of them.

Identifiers were trilled. Words spoken pertaining to combat - even if they were not traditionally combat oriented words - were growled and louder than other words. Time was signified by one word classifiers - _past_ and _future -_ and duration was signaled by either repetition, for long events, or a short, cut off version of the word, for things that barely happened or would _never_ happen. Questions were always at the end, and the subject of the sentence was at the beginning.

It was messy, clumsy, and difficult, and most of the time, Owen wasn't entirely certain he got the conversation correct. It was _beautiful._

For instance, in the previous conversation, Owen was fairly certain that Blue was commenting on Richards, his rather large build, her opinion of his relative unintelligence based on whatever criteria she held in her head, whether they should fight him, and the outcome of said fight.

Owen had attempted to reply that Richards was an ally, a smart ally, that no fight should occur but if one did, he didn't know the outcome.

Blue, young as she was and with boundless faith in her Alpha, had expressed her belief that Owen would always win the fights.

Billy, in his vast experience as the father of twins, had once told him there was a Golden Age before the Rebellious Teenage Years, where your child believed you could do no wrong and took your word as gospel.

"I miss those days," he had sighed wistfully, staring into his Guinness as if it held all the answers to the Female Mind. "No boys came sniffing around back then. And even if they had, the girls believed me when I told them all guys their age had cooties. They would have chased them away with a stick. I think Danielle did once, actually. She won't do that anymore."

At which point Owen choked on his beer and demanded to know the names and address of any boys following his goddaughter around, which Billy gleefully provided him with.

Somehow, he felt that the raptors' rebellious stage would involve a little less boys and a little more claws.

Owen was not looking forward to it.

Richards, meanwhile, stared at him as if he were having lingering doubts as to Owen's sanity.

"I'd heard rumors that you were chattering at them as if you could hold a conversation with them," he stated eventually. "Didn't think they were true."

Owen shrugged.

"Most people think you're crazy," he bluntly informed him.

Owen shrugged again.

"Some people say that you're just faking it," Richards continued, "like some elaborate prank played on the park."

Owen shrugged again.

"I don't think you're crazy," Richards said. "And I'm not sure about the prank thing, either. I'm withholding my judgement."

Owen thanked him, that time; very few withheld their judgement before they had the authority to make it.

"You're a good guy, Grady," he decided, eyeing him speculatively. "Crazy or no. And as a good guy, I'll do you a favor: I'll approve Grant's security clearance. And I won't tell management about it."

Owen's eyebrows shot up at that. While management had the park's computer team to keep them updated, it was a vast array of input they had to deal with, and quite a few things slipped through the net - nothing that was a potential threat to the park, which was flagged instantly and fast-tracked, but things they would have liked to know nevertheless. It was an unspoken rule that everyone, security included, would inform them of these things if they stumbled upon them.

The fact that Dr. Alan Grant was visiting Jurassic World as a specialist was one such thing.

"Really?" Owen asked in disbelief. "Don't take this the wrong way but… why?"

Richards crinkled his nose and leaned forward conspiratorially. "That Dearing woman came by the other day, talking about the environment and wasting paper. She questioned my process." He leaned back, somehow smug and disconcerted at the same time. "Now, she's a smart woman who is entitled to her own opinion, and I respect that. But if she would be so kind as to keep that opinion out of my damn office, I'll respect that even more." He harrumphed. "Let's see what she does without my process."

Owen left wondering which of the two of them was crazier.

And then his cell phone rang.

"How did you do it?" Malcolm demanded.

"Do what?"

"How did you convince Grant to come back to that prehistoric death trap? Voodoo? Bribery? Really persuasive puppy dog eyes?"

"I just asked him," Owen protested. "I only asked him to come check out the girls' future enclosure and make sure it was safe, and he said yes. That's it."

Silence. Owen resigned himself to even greater future suffering.

"You asked Grant for help in making sure nothing went wrong," Ian said, "but not _me?"_

And thus Pandora's box screamed open.

"He's a _paleontologist,"_ the mathematician spat. "Do you know what that means in the science community? One who never got over digging in sandboxes. But don't listen to me, I'm just a world renowned specialist in _shit that goes wrong._ "

Owen checked his watch. Delta whined plaintively. Owen nodded like a harried mother.

"- and who was it again that knew Jurassic Park was a disaster waiting to happen from the first second he heard about it? Oh yeah, _me._ But _nnooooooooo_ , you decide to go for the guy that sobbed at the feet of a diarrhea-ridden triceratops!"

Charlie informed Owen that she was hungry. Owen held up a hand that meant _wait._

"Alright, you've convinced me," Ian said plainly.

Owen blinked, then tried to backtrack through the conversation to figure out what he missed.

"What?"

"I'll come with. Check out the cage -"

"- Enclosure -"

"-gesundheit - and make sure your darling daughters don't kill you in your sleep. I'll fly out with Grant; it'll be like an Idiots Who Haven't Figured Out that Once was Enough Convention. We can reminisce and pretend the memories aren't killing us as a group! And probably get drunk while we're at it. Ooooohhhh, maybe we can try a beer bong!"

"Dr. Malcolm -"

"You can handle my clearance; I'll book a flight out there now, but I expect airfare to be reimbursed as part of the deal. Arrange it with your superiors. I'll leave the cover story as to how we know each other to you too, but email it to me beforehand; we need to corroborate."

"- Ian -"

"Gotta go now; I have a class soon, and I want to start it a half hour early so my students appreciate the unpredictability of life, and therefore chaos theory. I need to start talking to an empty classroom in the next five minutes if I want to be on schedule. See you on Murder Island."

And then he hung up.

Owen shook his head, turned around, and walked back into Security Headquarters.

Richards looked up at him, curious.

"I'm going to need another one of those forms."

* * *

Approximately three days after the girls had hatched, a fellow park employee whom Owen had never met before walked up, introduced himself, and began to tell him exactly why he could never learn how to speak to velociraptors.

It wasn't a matter of intelligence. It wasn't even a matter of whether or not there _was_ a language to learn.

There was a theory that stated that certain languages must be learned before a certain age, while the brain was still elastic. Without exposure to the sounds that produced the language before that age, he argued, the brain would never learn to hear them. They would blend together, indistinguishable from one another, and you wouldn't be able to differentiate them.

It was hopeless, he told him. It was better not to try.

Owen got up, thanked him for his time, and walked away.

He didn't know if the theory was true. He didn't know if he was correct.

But what he did know - and what he didn't - was that he _had_ begun hearing raptor noises during those critical developmental years.

For Eric Kirby, the call of a velociraptor was the closest thing he had had to the spoken word. They were warning sirens, brain teasers, and lullabies.

They were important, and little Eric Kirby had paid _so much attention to them._

(Eric never really had stopped paying attention to them. Even when he was Owen, reinvented and reborn, he paid attention to him. In his nightmares.)

(In his dreams.)

* * *

Owen did not take the man's advice.

At first, Tim and Eric hadn't gotten along very well.

That was not to say they didn't like one another; they did. That was not to say that they were not civil to one another; they were.

It was merely the simple fact that, to Tim, Eric represented the not-too-distant past of PTSD and an anxiety and depression so heavy that they felt like they would crush you, and to Eric, Tim represented the far-off future of mental wellness that he simply _couldn't reach._

At the end of the day, they didn't mesh.

Instead, Tim and Lex had remained in their own special sibling bond, and Eric and Kelly built an alliance based off rebellion and a stubborn attitude and their own special brand of jaded optimism. It worked.

Slowly, however, the two groups began to integrate.

Kelly and Lex became squirreled away for talks that no man had heard and lived to tell the tale. Tim and Eric remained distant, for a while, until they both spent the same Memorial Day Weekend at Dr. Grant's house.

What happened that weekend could only be understood by people who had undergone similar experiences and bore the scars to prove it. (Some parts, however, could not be understood even by such people; they involved a lawn mower, a swimming pool, and approximately three hundred rubber ducks. The neighborhood kids loved it.)

By the time their parents picked them up the following Tuesday, Tim and Eric were friends.

Later, their bond only grew, once they realized that Dr. Grant was the only father figure they had left. Tim hadn't spoken to his own father in years, not since the Jurassic Park Incident, and Eric had freshly lost his.

They were, they decided, brothers. Oddly decided foster brothers of dinosaur origins, but brothers nonetheless.

It probably helped that they had a somewhat larger than normal amount of alcohol in their system when they decided this fact.

Which meant that Tim called Owen at least once a week, to make sure he hadn't gotten himself eaten by his pseudo-daughters.

"So how's the lab?" Owen quered.

"Probably not nearly as life-threatening as your job," Tim replied. "But good. I like the work."

Tim never went back to any of the islands. He couldn't, after what happened. Masrani Inc. still asked him, of course. His grandfather was the Great John Hammond: entrepreneur, visionary, the mighty creator of Jurassic Park.

Self-made God.

Tim had loved his grandpa. But he had never forgiven him.

That was one thing he never really could understand about Eric: why he went back. Idly, Tim supposed he never would.

Something had twisted in Eric, during those weeks alone. It had bent in a way that it hadn't done in anyone else. And nobody really knew how to fix it.

Tim didn't even know if it needed to be fixed, or if Eric would fix it, given the chance.

At the end of the day, Owen was happy with the dinosaurs. And Tim was happy with his lab.

He had become a biochemical engineer; it was almost painful in its irony. Both he and Owen had been drawn back to what happened on those islands in different ways: Owen with what it happened with, and Tim with _how_ it happened.

He didn't want to create any dinosaurs - despite the many lucrative job offers he had received from the island's R & D Department. He just wanted to know how it happened.

Because then, maybe, he'd one day understand why it happened too.

Tim understood how now. He also understood that he was much happier curing diseases than curing extinction.

Then, one of Owen's raptors waddled into screen, the brown streaked one, moaning senselessly. Owen instantly gave her his attention, a diligent parent.

He was so whipped.

Owen drew his resonating chamber to his lips and chirped at her. The raptor - Echo - chirped back.

Tim watched.

A younger Tim would have been enthralled by the exchange. The older Tim still was, just… not in the same way.

 _timmy what is it_

 _it's a velociraptor_

 **it's inside**

"Echo needs to use the restroom," Owen said, oblivious. "I'll be a minute."

"What do you need to do? Change her diaper?"

Owen shot him a mock glare. "The velociraptor is a latrine animal."

For a moment, despite everything, Tim's intrigue was piqued. "It is?"

Nodding, Owen said, "Yep. They've got a special place in the woods that they _have_ to go to _every. Single. Time._ I swear, we'll be halfway across the park and they'll say they need to go to the restroom. It's like taking a little kid on a roadtrip: _'But I didn't have to go_ then!'" he jested.

Tim stared.

"Eri -"

" _Dude!"_

" _Owen?"_ Tim corrected tiredly.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe don't mention the bowel movements of your velociraptor children to anyone else."

"... Solid advice."

Echo echoed her desire for the latrine. Owen dutifully got up, corralling her sisters before leaving the bungalow, and promised to return in a moment.

Tim sat awkwardly in his ergonomically correct office chair, whistling briefly before stopping himself, and wondered vaguely about his relative sanity since the Park Incident, the company he kept, and the fact that he warned Eric off basing his conversation topics around the bathroom habits of baby velociraptors, but not the fact that he had conversations with said baby velociraptors.

Tim decided it was best not to think about it.

"Owen? You here, man?"

Tim almost fell out of his ergonomically correct office chair.

A tall, dark-skinned, leanly muscled man jogged up the steps of Owen's bungalow/man cave, glancing about. He noticed the open laptop almost instantly.

"Oh. Hello," Tim greeted, awkwardly raising a hand before dragging it back down again. "Owen has just stepped out for a moment."

"Right," the man nodded. "I'm Barry; I work with Owen." He cocked his head. "You're that Tim Murphy guy, aren't you? The one that was here as a boy. I've seen you on the news before. You found some cure."

"Ah," Tim nodded, his mind running to desperate places. He realized belatedly that he should probably stop nodding. "Right. I did. And I am. Him." He laughed nervously, almost knocking the T-Rex bobble head off his desk. "I bet you're wondering what I'm doing here. Well, not _here_ here. On Owen's laptop. I'm in California. Where I live. Yeah. Owen and I know each other from... the service," he blurted.

 _The service?_

Barry looked at him like he was doubting his sanity. "The Navy?"

"The - uh - McDonald's branch actually. We were cashiers together. High school."

 _McDonald's?_

"You do realize I know that Owen is really Eric Kirby, right?"

"You do?" Tim gasped. "Thank God! I'm a terrible liar. Could you tell?"

Wait.

" _You do?"_ Tim demanded. _"How?"_

"Isla Sorna?" Barry informed him hesitantly. "Couple months back? We got chased by velociraptors together? He called them by name and then ran through uncharted areas of the park and straight into Eric Kirby's long lost water truck?"

Tim didn't know which part to fume about first.

And that was when Owen walked in.

Hopping up this steps, his girls chirping at his heels, Owen looked as serene as someone who had just walked out of a particularly odd episode of _Leave it to Beaver._ He looked up, saw the pair, and froze.

" _You're dead you son of a lovely lady!"_ Tim snarled.

Tim was mad, that was a given.

But that was no reason to disrespect Mrs. Kirby. Tim had liked her, and she was exactly the kind of person who would leave Eternal Paradise to scold him for sassing her memory.

Tim had learned a long time ago not to tempt fate.

Barry stared at the pair of them. "I have missed something."

Owen had the look of a man who had just watched a train flatten his car. And it was a Bugatti. "Oh no. No no no. I can explain."

"Well, I for one _can't wait_ to hear it! How about you explain it to Dad first, and I'll listen in!"

"I have missed something."

"Do we really have to bring Alan into this?" Owen whined.

" _Alan?"_ Tim exclaimed. "Oh, not just him! I'm calling in the big guns: I'm calling in _Kelly."_

" _What?"_ Owen shrieked. It was 100% a high-pitched scream of terror, and nothing Owen could say would convince him otherwise.

" _And Dani."_

Owen stared at him, scandalized. "You would stoop so low?"

"I have missed something."

"So have I, apparently," spat Tim.

Owen shot him the look that he still maintained was not puppy dog eyes. Tim knew it was. "I was going to tell you eventually."

"When? When we're eighty?"

Owen snorted. "Like either of us are ever reaching eighty," he scoffed.

" _Owen,"_ Tim ground out. "How could you not tell us?"

"I - I don't know," the man sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. "Nobody outside the family's every known; I wanted time to figure out the logistics of it before worrying anyone."

"People haven't exactly stopped looking for you, Eric!" Tim snapped, ignoring the man's agitated look at the use of _his own damn name._ "Your vanishing act is still listed in the Top 100 Modern Mysteries! Do you honestly think that there's a reporter out there that _wouldn't_ mortgage their house and drain their kid's college fund to find out that Eric freaking Kirby has moved to Jurassic World and is raising a bunch of baby velociraptors? We're your family; we're supposed to look out for you, and that _includes_ making sure some guy isn't about to sell you out to a gossip rag!"

" _Barry's not going to sell me out!"_ Owen snapped back. "See, this is exactly what I was worried about: you guys starting the second damn Spanish Inquisition the minute you met him. I didn't want you to scare him off!"

"I'm not going to scare him off!"

The _creek-_ **slam** of the bungalow's screen door informed the arguing pair that Barry Dumont had, in fact, been scared off.

Both of them stopped.

Both of them stared.

"Go after him!" Tim shouted.

"Watch the girls!" Owen shouted back.

The bungalow door _creek-_ **slammed** again.

Delta hopped on the table, looked at the computer screen, made an odd noise in the back of her throat, and then promptly vomited all over Owen's keyboard.

"Right," Tim sighed.

* * *

Owen made it exactly five steps out of the bungalow before he crashed directly into one Barry Dumont. The pair stumbled from the momentum, teetering like a drunk elephant with inner-ear problems, before gradually steadying themselves.

"Whoa," Barry calmed. "You done with in there already?"

"What?"

"With your, uh, 'discussion,'" Barry said. "I thought you two'd rather talk alone. You done?"

Owen blinked. He blinked again. "Uh, yeah," he recovered. "Totally done. One hundred percent. Just came out here to tell you that."

"And that's why you ran out here like your pants were on fire?"

"I was eager to tell you how done we were."

Barry looked conflicted. "You said you trusted me in there. Not to give you away."

Nodding, Owen relaxed slightly. "I do."

"But not enough to tell your family."

"It's not that," Owen promised. "It's not. They can just be kind of… different."

"Different?"

"Every single person in my family has been known to drive up to two thousand miles to have a conversation that they could have just picked up the damn telephone for. We don't do things normally. Ever."

A pause. "I see." Another pause. "Including you?"

"One thousand five hundred and seventy two."

"I see."

"It's not that I don't trust you," Owen said. "Or them. I'm just… not good at letting other people into my problems until I've done everything I can to figure them out on my own. I didn't want to worry them until I had figured everything out, that's all."

"So I'm a problem now?" Barry asked, eyebrows raised.

"That's not what I meant," Owen groaned. "And I was going to tell them soon - before Alan and Ian came to the island, in fact."

Silence.

"Owen?"

"Yes, Barry?"

"Alan and Ian are coming to the island?"

"Yes, Barry."

"Alan and Ian, as in the famous Alan Grant and Ian Malcolm?"

"... I have not mentioned this?"

"No you have not."

"Ah. Well, don't tell Dearing. Or management in general, really. We want to see how far we can go without them figuring out they're here."

"Owen?"

"Yes, Barry?

"You have a serious problem with sharing information."

"... I'm aware."

"Right," Barry sighed, and walked back in the bungalow.

When the pair reentered, the bungalow was in chaos.

Owen's lone pillow was in tatters. The computer's keyboard was _destroyed._ An entire bag of Cheetoslay scattered across the ground. Echo laid in the center of the mess, her small stomach protruding, either sleeping or dead.

"You were supposed to be watching them!"

Tim glanced up from his phone and shrugged. "I'm like, four thousand miles away. What did you expect me to do?"

And that's when Owen's phone chimed. He glanced down.

" _You actually told Kelly on me?"_

* * *

 **So I just reread the top note, and realized that that "I'm sorry" could give the impression that I'd killed someone off again. I have not. That was just a reference to the dearth of updates. I was going to change it, but then I decided to just let it ride. Also, I hereby promise that I will not abandon this story. Updates will be weird, because I am a terrible person, but I love this fic and I already have it planned out from beginning to end. It will be finished. Even if it's ninety years from now and the Internet had been rendered obsolete by futuristic telepathic mind links.**

 **Responses:**

Apache Thunderbird: **You are not off kilter at all. That is one hundred percent it. He knew that he couldn't fully get rid of Eric and become Owen, but he didn't really grasp it. And now he's realizing that Eric isn't just someone he** _ **was,**_ **but someone he still** _ **is.**_ **The two identities have become mixed for him, and he's just realizing that he's not exactly either one of them. (And I love Barry too. He is safe. For now. Just kidding. Or am I?)**

Sava-chan: **I'm glad you liked it! And "head-ramblings" are always welcome here. I thought they were great, and I'm also guilty of such a thing myself. Ramble away!**


End file.
